


The Walk before the Run

by hannanotmontana



Series: Glitter in the Air [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Romance, bad language, injured!Varric, nothing graphic though, violence and gore (like in the games)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-02-28 16:41:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2739584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannanotmontana/pseuds/hannanotmontana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Varric gets injured badly in a fight, both he and Hawke think back on their friendship so far. And they realize that friendship might have only been the first step on the way to something more - only the walk before the run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Only Half Past the Point of No Return

**Author's Note:**

> Work title from "Glitter in the Air" by Pink.
> 
> Flashbacks/Dreams are always between lines.
> 
> This is my first time writing these two, but I couldn't contain my Varric feels any longer (Y U NOT ROMANCEABLE?!!) and I'm open to suggestions/helpful tips regarding writing the characters.
> 
> Enjoy!

Destiny seemed to strike randomly and Hawke later on wondered why it had to strike during such a trivial fight. There was nothing much out of the order. Shades in Lowtown, two blood mages that had gone crazy. Nothing they hadn’t dealt with hundreds of times before.

It would never make for a great story – no gigantic ogre, no dragon, no Archdemon. Just two mages and a few waves of shades.

The first mage fell seconds into battle by a bolt from Varric and Bianca, driven into the foe’s neck with impeccable aim, both ending his life and disabling him from regurgitating a last spell, using his own blood.

While Merrill cast a spell calling on a massive lightning storm, Hawke used the cover of darkness and electrical lights to leave her place in front of Varric and reappear right behind the second mage, driving her daggers deep into his back. Gone was the second foe.

All that remained now were hoards of shades, and although there were some that looked different to the ones they usually got, they hadn’t displayed any sign of being special in any way. They died just like the others did and Hawke slashed her way through them, while Anders and Merrill attacked from the distance and Varric shot volleys of arrows into anything that came too close to her own back.

In a second long pause between waves of creatures, Hawke noticed something moving in the darkness next to where Anders and Varric where currently moving backwards to and, as always in battle mode, she knew what to do next before her brain actually settled on a plan. She disappeared with a puff, intent of popping up next to Varric and keeping the creature lurking in the shadows off his back – and that was when everything went to hell.

Just when she popped up next to her trusty marksman and he greeted her with a cheerful “So you decided to join in on the fun he-“ Merrill had noticed the threat, too, and aimed a fireball at the creature ready to sneak up on the dwarf. However, she hadn’t counted on Hawke appearing in the middle of her trajectory and all the rogue could do now was kick Varric out of the way while she flung herself on the ground, just in time to feel the heat of the fireball whizzing past her and detonating with an enormous rumble in the wall of the house that had cast the shadow which hid the lurking shade.

While she was still getting back on her feet, Hawke realized that the rumbling hadn’t stopped. In fact, it had gotten louder and when the first chunk of stone hit the street inches next to where her head had been before, Anders had already noticed the danger of the collapsing building and dragged her away by the arm.

She tried to grab hold of Varric, who was also in the progress of getting back on his feet, but instead of his hand, she only held on to Bianca and with a panicked scream of her, she was yanked back by Anders, watching in horror as the building came down on the dwarf on his knees.

-

When the dust had finally subsided (thanks to a gust of wind from Anders), Hawke was already busy tearing through the mountain of stone, trying to get to Varric. Merrill was standing next to her, tears in her big eyes, and trying to bow the elements to her will, helping with the digging.

And then she shrieked, at the same moment as Hawke spotted a leather-glove-clad hand. It didn’t take long after that to recover Varric, but the time seemed to slow down and nothing happened fast enough.

He was covered in dust that dulled his honey hair to a muddy brown and thickened the blood covering his face and bare chest to a black paste. Hawke immediately started wiping the blood away with a piece of cloth she had worn around her neck and then Anders pushed her aside, checking for life signs in the broken body at their feet.

“What are those lines?” Merrill suddenly piped up while Anders hastily went through his satchel for something, causing him to look up. Hawke leant forward, too.

After she’d wiped the blood mud away, fresh blood had immediately started to flow again, but it also helped rinse away the dust covering Varric and revealed a net of black veins creeping up from somewhere on his stomach, making their way up towards his face while they were still watching.

**_“Shade poison,”_** Anders commented, although it was the voice of Justice coming from his mouth. The silver of the ghost sharing the healer’s body cast an eerie light in the otherwise almost dark street as he roughly hoisted the dwarf up and uncovered the ground where they could see the broken limb of the creature they had originally planned on killing, which had been buried under the dwarf.

And a spike that must’ve been attached to the arm had drilled itself into Varric’s lower back.

Justice yanked it out and while Hawke and Merrill both started to protest, Varric made the first sound ever since they had recovered him. It was only a low moan, but nevertheless a sound and Hawke felt something stuck in her throat that she tried to swallow. Now was not the time for sentimentality. First, they needed to save his life.

* * *

* * *

_(9:34 Dragon)_

Varric was still shivering when he sat in his suite at the Hanged Man much later that night, haunted by the image of a stitched together corpse wearing Leandra’s face. It- she could still think and speak, apparently, for when she finally died in Hawke’s arms, she seemed almost content with the prospect of seeing her son and husband again... but still.

“What a day, eh?” he said in the vague direction of Bianca leaning against a wall and downed the rest of ale in the mug in front of him. But still, even the blinding effect the beverage usually had when you drank too much of it (and that was one of the reasons he usually had his own stuff hidden somewhere in the basement) did no good to wipe out the memory of Leandra.

She must feel terrible at the moment.

She’d sent everybody home, had declined Merrill’s offer of staying with her and had turned down Varric’s invitation to join him at the Hanged Man so she wouldn’t stay alone in a home that reminded her of the person she had just lost. Also, she’d said she needed to talk to that idiot uncle of hers.

Varric made a face. “Don’t give me that look, Bianca. She said she wanted to be alone.”

28 seconds passed before he slammed down his mug. “Maker, you’re right. As always,” he grumbled while he quickly gathered a nice bottle of wine, some food and of course Bianca, whom he stroked lovingly once before holstering her.

On the way from Lowtown to Hawke’s mansion, he had plenty of time to reconsider how much of an idiot he’d been. Of course he shouldn’t have left her alone. They weren’t simply business partners anymore, they had been friends for a long time and besides, Hawke always said she was fine, even if she really wasn’t. That was part of her Good Samaritan attitude, probably, but it also meant that she needed others to tell her when she was being stupid or dick-headed – something Varric took pride in being able to provide in three languages and the most intricate articulations possible.

So, yes, it all boiled down to him being incredibly stupid and Hawke being even more stupid which was only excused by her having lost her mother.

While he walked the streets, his angry muttering to himself helped warding off some of the more shady individuals and the one Corterie assassin that followed him silently for a while decided that this was not her night to strike when he suddenly stopped in the middle of a dark, empty street and yelled exasperatedly to apparently no one in particular: “Well, I can’t always be right, Bianca!”

The dwarf was clearly crazy.

Soon after the postponed not-assassination Varric, still in deep conversation with Bianca (because it helped him to sort his thoughts when he talked to her) reached the Hawke residence and knocked, fully prepared to slam in the door if Hawke wouldn’t open. Instead, he faced a mildly surprised Bodhan.

“Good evening, Master Varric. How may I help you?”

Varric supposed it was good manners that prevented Bodhan from adding ‘at this late hour’ to his question. “I’m here to see Hawke. Is she in?”

In every other situation, he’d definitely made up a humorous reason for his visit, but he felt like the situation called for being serious in case Hawke was in ear-shot. She usually enjoyed his quips, but Varric knew too well what the death of a family member could do to someone.

“She is taking a bath currently. May I-“

Varric interrupted before Bodhan could offer something ridiculous like ‘give her a message’ and resolutely stepped forward, passing the perplex dwarf. “I’ll just wait for her then.”

After a moment, Bodhan closed the door behind him and, getting over his bewilderment, offered him a seat in the chair by the fire. “She won’t be much longer, I reckon.”

Now that he was at Hawke’s and all settled down, Varric realised that, in his opinion, Hawke could very much rather take a long while, because he was at loss for what to say. Imagine – the liesmith, the silver-tongued story teller – at loss for words! The thing was, though, that words couldn’t take away the pain of losing your mother and they did nothing helpful. A good story might distract, but maybe distraction wasn’t what Hawke needed at the moment. She needed to deal with the fact that her mother was gone, and Varric had no doubt that she would be strong enough to come out of it... well, not fine, but well.

Hell, she was the strongest rogue he knew – besides himself of course, because with Bianca at his side, there was nothing that could stop him – and he’d see to it that she came out of this unharmed. Physically and emotionally. If she needed a distraction later, he’d tell her all the stories he knew, and make up a hundred more if that was what she needed.

She was Hawke and he... realized for the first time in their time together that he would die for her if that meant saving her. Not if it was to be avoided, of course, he loved life too much to just throw it away, but if it was for Hawke, he-

“Varric?”

Apparently his brain short-circuited there for a moment, because his (incredibly witty and melodic) answer was a confused: “Hawke?”

Because there she was. Hawke.

Stupidly, he noticed that this was the first time he had seen her out of her armour. She wore it in battle, obviously, and also in her free time, which was spent largely at the Hanged Man – of all places, it would have been stupid to show up _there_ without armour, after all.

But now, in her thin tunic and loose trousers, missing the two daggers usually strapped to her back, minus the helmet flatting down her hair in a fight – now, she looked younger, more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her before.

She stepped closer and the light of the fire now reached her completely. Even though she was paler than usual, which Varric put down to the loss of her mother, a blush resided high on her cheeks, most likely from the hot water of her bath. The same water would attribute to her hair clinging to her forehead in strands and poking up on the back of her head like someone had glued a hedgehog there.

That thought made Varric actually laugh out loud and Hawke narrowed her eyes at him while stepping closer to the fire to keep the warmth of her bath in her bones for a little while longer. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he explained hastily, “I just thought about a... hedgehog.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Of course you did.” She paused and got more serious. “Is there something you need?”

_You to not be alone and also a place to drink at where the roaches aren’t the most intelligent conversation partners in the room._

“I thought of what you said to me in the Deep Roads, after we killed that Ancient Rock Wraith.” He fixed his eyes on Hawke’s bright blue ones. “I wanted to lock myself up in the Hanged Man until I got trace of Bartrand. You told me we’d do it together, that I shouldn’t be alone when I found him.”

“I’m not sure I want company right now. I’d rather not talk about what... happened today, if that’s possible,” Hawke replied, turning her back on him and staring into the flames.

“I understand that. I just don’t think you should be alone right now.” He waited a moment and then decided that it was time for a lighter mood – he’d made his point and there was really no reason for why he should bother Hawke any longer with sad thoughts. “You know I have a stray-puppy-gene that makes it impossible not to follow you around.”

That made Hawke a little shaky and Varric was relieved to see it was quiet laughter that shook her when she turned back to him. “So it’s not because I’m wildly attractive and you’re a slave for my love?”

_Andraste,_ of course _she was_ – in the dim light, with the flushed cheeks and the damp hair she was every bit as beautiful as Bianca had been. But Varric wasn’t going to say that, obviously. “I think someone’s playtime with Isabela needs to be cut down a little.”

Hawke fake pouted and finally sat down, although she didn’t chose the second chair but the carpet in front of the fire, crossing her legs. “You just want her for yourself so you have someone to play Wicked Grace with.”

“You wound me – I enjoy playing with Blondie and Daisy, too!”

“Only because you beat them all the time.”

“Someone has to pay for this fine wine-“ he pulled the bottle out of his satchel and handed it to Hawke, “-and it sure isn’t going to be me.”

Hawke chuckled again – not the full on laugh he might have earned another time, but still, she didn’t sit there and cry in front of him, which was a relief. Instantly, he felt awful for thinking it, especially since he had decided minutes ago that he wouldn’t distract her, that she needed to face-

“If you have something to eat in there, too, you could unpack it. After talking to Gamlen, I feel like I’m even more exhausted than before if that’s possible.”

Ah, Hawke had taken the course back into more serious waters all by herself. While he handed her some cheese and bread, he asked: “Do I need to introduce him to Bianca?”, aiming for carelessly.

Hawke took the food thankfully and shook her head. Around two mouthful, she said: “He blamed me and I couldn’t really disagree with him.”

“You know it’s not your fault, though? I was there. I saw what you did. You didn’t take too long, you gave everything. That mage was sick. You couldn’t have done anything else.” Varric felt like he was blabbering more than being helpful but something at the thought of the old gambler accusing his fearless leader and her doing nothing about it sparked a rage in him that was usually reserved for Bartrand or darkspawn.

“Yes...” Hawke didn’t sound convinced, but before he could add something a little more elaborate to his defence of her, she explained: “I don’t blame myself in the sense of I’m _responsible_ for... her death. I just... didn’t want to fight with Gamlen in that moment. But I keep thinking that if I just had come home a bit earlier, if I had noticed something was off just a bit faster-“

“Hawke, stop it. You were with Blondie, Daisy and, most importantly, me. We’ve defeated ogres, dragons, darkspawn and wraiths. We are the best team there is and we did everything in our power. You couldn’t have given more than you have.”

Varric meant what he said. This team was what stories, no, _legends_ were made of and he’d be damned thrice if they wouldn’t still be told hundreds of years after they were all dead.

“But I didn’t save her.” Hawke’s face darkened when she lowered her head, away from the flames, and the now dry hair fell over her eyes, shadowing them.

“No, no you didn’t. But you gave everything and that is what counts. Those who give up, those who don’t even try – they are the ones losing even more. They have to live with the knowledge that they just let it happen, they have to live with _themselves_. You tried everything – and we’re all here to live with you. You don’t have to be alone - you never will be, in fact, because you have this whole gang of backup dancers following you, even if it’s straight into the pit of an Archdemon.”

Hawke was watching him now, carefully from under long eyelashed, not quite raising her head, and he took the chance to turn the tone around once more. “And that’s not because of your good looks or the way you wield those two tooth-picks.” He smirked at her. “It’s because of the decisions you make and the way you treat everyone with respect, the way you pour yourself into the rescue of poor damsels in distress. Or dis- _dress_ , if Isabela was around before.”

When he heard the distinctive sound of a laughter being swallowed because one didn’t want to laugh but still had to, he knew he had come through to the old Hawke.

“So you think I’m ugly?” she finally asked, sitting up straighter again, pointing the small knife they’d used for the cheese at him.

“Well you do lack my fantastical chest hair... By dwarven standards, that’s a big no-go.”

“I thought it was what distinguished a male dwarf from a female one?”

Mirth twinkled in his eyes. “No, that would be the beards.”

Hawke was laughing softly before swatting at his knee. “I know for a fact that’s not true, seeing as you don’t sport a full-on beard and yet proclaim your manliness to everyone at the Hanged Man at least twice a week.”

He feigned shame. “You caught me. I lied. As I do so often, like when I said I didn’t follow you for your good looks.”

“Ser Dwarf, you flatter me – I feel inclined to let you spend the night,” Hawke responded, voice husky and wriggling her eyebrows at him. Her mind might not be fully in their little game, but Varric was more than happy to see her play along to this ridiculous banter.

Although of course it wasn’t just ridiculous, not really. She really was beautiful to him, in the way that she might not be a beauty queen by general standards but perfect to him by the mix of her character, speech and looks.

And she might not have been entirely joking with her invitation for him to spend the night. Which he had every intention of taking up.

Not in the way almost every man in Kirkwall would agree in an instant, not in the way Isabela spent the night at places. But the house was infinitely bigger without the presence of Leandra, and infinitely darker if you looked past the armchair Varric occupied and the small island of light and carpet in front of the fireplace on which Hawke was seated, inching closer to Varric all the time, fleeing the shadows that seemed to lick at the edge of light the more the fire burnt down. She was almost sitting at his feet now, inches away from bumping his knee with her nose.

“Since I’m a gentleman, I would never agree to that, m’lady,” Varric replied easily then, but when Hawke pretended to be shocked, he offered: “However, I’m told by reliable sources that I have a certain entertaining value even if I don’t... display my manliness to young nobles of the Hightown.”

Hawke looked confused for a second before she smiled. “Tell me a story then, Varric. A story where everyone lives happily ever after.”

And Varric told her the story of a young dwarf of the Noble Caste who set out to explore the surface where she fell in love with a human bard who was not only blind, deaf and silent, but also the greatest singer of his time. (“How can he be the greatest singer if he’s silent?” Hawke interrupted, grinning, and Varric, equally amused by his own tale, explained: “He did a sort of gargle- it was very modern at that time!”)

The story was so crazy and intricate that Hawke soon hung on his lips, temporarily forgetting about blaming herself for her mother’s death and scooting closer and closer until she finally sat with her back against his legs, her head nested between his knees, relaxing into the warmth he emitted even after the fire had long died down to a orange glow.

Finally, she fell asleep, and Varric fell silent.

There was no way short from a Sixth Blight that he would so much as breathe too loud as to not wake her and he was probably in for a slightly uncomfortable night, sitting in this chair, but it was for Hawke. If she could hurt so much and still laugh with him, he could endure a little crick in the neck.

A short while later, he was napping, too, but stirred when Hawke twitched in her sleep and her brow furrowed. She was dreaming, probably badly. So Varric started humming. Low at first, almost under his breath, but aware of the vibrations his own voice sent through his body. And then the words came. He sung almost toneless, and he changed the words into Dwarvish because he had sworn never to tell the story to anyone. But Hawke was asleep, and even if she woke up, she wouldn’t understand a word he sung.

Bianca’s Song found Hawke in her dreams and followed her through the night.

* * *

* * *

“Varric I swear to the Maker, if you die on me now I’ll make Merrill bring you back so I can kill you again!”

The dwarf seemed to have heard her since his fingers twitched and he managed to blink one eye open, but when he tried to answer, he only gurgled and coughed up blood.

Anders, and to a lesser extent Merrill, were steadily pumping healing magic into him now but there was simply too much damage done to come even close to putting Varric out of his pain for even a moment.

“The pain is going to drive him mad,” Merrill observed fearfully. “Anders can’t properly treat him if he’s fighting so hard against the pain. Hawke, please talk to him! He listens to you.”

But Hawke had been trying that for minutes now and Varric, lying in a pool of his own blood, was getting paler by the minute while black veins crept up his neck and his eyes were screwed shut tightly. His fingers raked helplessly in the dirt when he found enough energy to move them.

When Anders stopped the flow of magic for a second and sighed in frustration, a slight sliver glow that indicated the ever-looming presence of Justice behind his closed eyelids, Hawke leaned forward and whispered: “I’m so sorry, Varric. I guess you’ll thank me later.” Then she hit him in the face, sending him into blissful darkness.

Anders wordlessly took up his work again until he declared the dwarf stable enough to be moved. He made motions to pick him up, but Hawke was already there. Varric weighed a lot – what he lacked in size, he made up in muscle and the general compactness of his race in addition to the heavy leatherwear he usually wore. But despite the exhaustion of the battle, the blood clinging to her body – most of which was Varric’s – and the fact that she was trained on dexterity rather than strength, she held her companion tightly, stumbling back towards the lights of Hightown that glowed far up on the hill.

It was an unspoken agreement that the unhygienic conditions of the Hanged Man were not suitable to take care of Varric and Anders didn’t dare to suggest taking him into Darktown, where the Coterie would easily get to him if they wanted to. So Hightown, and the Amell estate it was.

Merrill and Anders followed in silence and the night was only filled with a steady whisper coming from Hawke, directed at her unconscious friend.

“Do you hear me – don’t you die.”

-

It smelled like blood and for some reason there was a faint note of vanilla dancing around the metallic stink. Also, someone seemed to be chanting. Certainly the words ‘Maker’ and ‘Andraste’ were mumbled at least every other sentence.

But then again, so was ‘fuck’ and ‘tits’ which was a strong indicator that Varric wasn’t at the Chantry like he’d thought at first.

Thinking was a hurtful, complicated act – much like opening his eyes, breathing or... being alive in general. At least he supposed he was still alive because there was no Bianca and no good ale to be seen, two of the things he really hoped for in afterlife.

Then searing hot pain spread from his lower back and he sank back into the darkness while the curses against everything that was holy got louder and louder.


	2. The Trembling Heart of a Captive Bird

There had to have been a time when her short black hair wasn’t filthy with dust and sweat, when her skin wasn’t smudged in copper from when had scrubbed away Varric’s blood hastily, missing half of it. There had to have been times when the bags under her eyes were only a memory of a night filled with too much rounds of cards and drinking at the Hanged Man with her friends.

These times, however, seemed distant, barely recognisable as her own memories when Hawke paced the space in front of the door to her own bedroom in agonisingly small circles. It wasn’t more than three long steps in the one direction, and then back again. To and fro, she paced and Merrill had long ago stopped to make her sit down only for a moment to eat some soup.

Anders was behind the shut door for hours already, it seemed – in reality it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes – fighting against the poison that tried to kill everyone’s favourite dwarf.

Bodhan had sent a messenger to Aveline, Fenris and Isabela and they were on their way here, but really the only person Hawke would have loved to see walking through a door right now was a healthy dwarf with more chest hair than other people sported on their heads. Preferably with Bianca on his back and a witty comment at the ready.

The crossbow was leaning against the wall next to her room, though, looking just as depressed as Hawke felt.

Anders wouldn’t allow either of them in, though, and remained behind closed doors with the dwarf that was tossing in feverish dreams, sporting a red mark on his cheek from when Hawke had knocked him out.

She wondered what he was dreaming about.

* * *

* * *

 

_(9:31 Dragon)_

The only sound audible to Varric was the soft buzzing of the bowstring when Bianca sent another bolt on its way, drowning out the distant sound of the Hanged Man downstairs. The roach he hit with deadly precision burst apart while the bolt drilled itself into the wood of the floor, quivering slightly.

Shooting things helped him when he thought about business and this Hawke girl was business. Serious business. At least she seemed like more pleasant business than the Guild’s business, but only time would tell about that.

Another bolt drilled itself into the floorboards. He began humming a tune, the only tune he’d hum these days. Would he be somewhere else, he’d sing along under his breath, but despite him not sensing anyone outside his room’s door, he didn’t risk someone overhearing the words he’d swore he’d never tell to a living soul.

Originally, he had planned to keep Hawke away from the expedition. He knew of her reputation, of course – anyone who wasn’t completely deaf, blind and ignorant to the ongoings of Lowtown had heard of her. Working for Athenril, she had quickly made herself a name and was regarded as reliable, effective and above all, smart. Also, she seemed to have mastered the art of actually bathing more than once a year, a concept unknown to the majority of Lowtown.

But fragrant, smart and strong as she might be, she was no Deep Roads expedition material, no matter how many darkspawn lives she had ended already. Hawke was followed by her sister everywhere she went and although she was without doubt a powerful mage, she had no business in the Deep Roads. Hawke and her seemed to be getting along just fine and Hawke would certainly freak out if something happened to Bethany.

Not everyone could have a sibling relationship like he and Bartrand had, after all.

So, no. No sibling drama in the Deep Roads.

But alas, Varric came too late and they had already talked to Bartrand. Which meant there was nothing to be done about that now and he might as well take a closer look at her.

Being robbed was a rookie mistake, even if it happened in broad daylight in Hightown, but Varric couldn’t help the feeling that if only Hawke wanted to, she could have thrown one of her daggers and stopped the thief by herself just fine.

After that, there was not much else to be said. Varric knew the right words to convince her to let him tag along in her quest to earn enough money to join Bartrand. Varric _always_ knew the right words – it was one of his (many) talents.

It was smart of her not to trust him in the beginning, but her true wisdom became apparent when she decided to do trust him after all. You had to know whom to trust in this blasted city state.

-

“Is that a picture of you, Varric?” Hawke asked, eyeing an admittedly crude drawing of something alike to a dwarf that was pinned at the board in front of the Chantry.

“It hasn’t nearly enough chest-hair to be Varric,” Bethany giggled and Varric huffed in mock annoyance.

“It was a long and hot summer, Sunshine. Maybe I had to trim it.”

The look Hawke threw him was worth the comment and she leaned closer to the dirty scrap of paper do decipher what the words scrawled beneath the drawing read.

‘You are a liar, there is no gold hidden at the bottom of the ale barrel at the Hanged Man! If I find you we’ll see how well you like being caught in a barrel of ale for hours with the lid nailed shut tightly!’ – At least his spelling is better than his drawings...”

Varric scratched his head. “Well, that does sound like a... _story_ I would tell, but who would be stupid enough to- _oh_. Yes. I know. Maybe you should check the ale barrels tomorrow morning, Hawke, and make sure I’m not dead and drowned in one of them.”

“Maybe it would add to the flavour, though,” Hawke mused with a twinkle in her eyes.

“True, the ale at the Hanged Man can’t possibly taste any worse, after all,” Varric conceded. “But, just in case, we could take that scrap of paper with us and show it to your guard friend. Maybe she’d like to arrest the one or the other figure dangerous to the population tonight.”

“’Population’ meaning you, of course.”

“Naturally.”

-

Hawke seemed to have friends everywhere. The guards, the mages – even the elves. Wherever she went, there were people tagging along.

That Dalish Merrill would have had the power to give Varric the creeps, but since she was so naive in her everyday approach to life in the city, he quickly developed something he tagged with some horror at the revelation as ‘fatherly feelings’. Ancestors, he was barely over 30! But Merrill, needing a ball of string to find her way around Kirkwall was simply calling for that sort of feelings.

Except for when she pulled the whole blood magic thing and Varric stayed wisely out of the way.

Then there was the slave elf, Fenris, who seemed to have this whole broody-thing going for him with the ladies, but chose to remain in that big empty house all day, except for when Hawke went after slavers or asked him for help. He was good at Diamondback, though, since all the hair over his eyes hid his expression well (if he didn’t get into a fit of rage when he was about to lose, that was).

Isabela was a well-known constant in Varric’s Hanged Man social circle and he enjoyed it immensely when she was part of the group Hawke took exploring.

Anders and Aveline were alright, too, in their own way – once you started ignoring all the ‘duty and justice’ talk they never seemed to tire of. In these situations, Varric usually walked closer to Hawke and they had their own conversation, trying to block out the others’ attempts of convincing them that their side was the only right one.

While Varric got along with all those people well enough – he had always been a people person – he enjoyed nothing as much as his daily stunts with Hawke and was the only one she always took with her – partly because he liked to think of them as perfectly matched partners and partly because he followed her anyway.

And Hawke always smelled like vanilla, even when they were wading knee-deep through blood and gore, which was a huge plus and also puzzled him a bit. Not enough that he would’ve asked about it, though – he was sure he’d find a satisfying explanation at one point.

-

During the months in which she tried to earn the money for Bartrand’s expedition, Varric grew to admire her witty tongue, her talent in battle, her thirst for knowledge and the fact that she thought first and attacked later when the situation called for it.

He was by no means against violence, especially against people who tried to make ragout out of him, but Hawke more than once came to a smart solution that satisfied everyone instead of going in for the kill.

She was ready to give people a chance, but if they betrayed her, her wrath came close to Justice when he made one of his rare appearances. As a business man, Varric understood that – if people went against you, you had to get rid of them to protect yourself, your business and the ones you loved.

Hawke was sociable and could _almost_ keep up in a game of Wicked Grace against him or Isabela, she paid for the ale on some evenings and although she mocked the stories he spun about her – he guessed it was a self-defence mechanism born from modesty– she never said a word against all of the stories he constantly told. She even seemed to enjoy them.

All in all that got her in the best books in Varric’s opinion – Ancestors, she paid for alcohol and encouraged the fact that he loved the sound of his own voice. What more could a dwarf want?

When-

* * *

* * *

 

**_“Dwarf, rise and bring justice upon those responsible for your wounds!”_ **

Varric felt the blackness surrounding him fade a bit, pushed back by a bright silver light in the distance. It took him a moment to realize that he must’ve been dreaming before and now that reality hit him, it hit him with so much pain that he instantly regretted having woken up.

Breathing hurt so much he didn’t even try to move or speak, and thinking, too, was an act that required every ounce of willpower he could scrape together.

With some effort he realized that Justice, the ghost inhabiting Blondie’s body, had spoken to him – at least he supposed there weren’t any _other_ dwarves around. Well, wherever ‘around here’ was...

He didn’t feel like reacting though, not when even being awake cost so much energy. He dimly remembered a fight and... something collapsing over him. Which would explain while his whole existence was made up of pain right now.

**_“Dwarf!”_ **

The silver light got brighter now, reached him in his safe place of darkness and stung so badly that the discomfort became too much.

Fine. What did Mister High-and-Mighty want?

“Varric, do you hear me?”

Oh, great. So Blondie was back in control now, yes? The mere thought of sarcastic clapping would have to do for now since moving any part of his body, much less his hands seemed like the worst idea anyone had ever had. Including everything that had ever come out of Bartrand’s mouth. Maybe he could just try and move one eyelid, though-

_No._ Pain.

When the red heat finally ebbed down to a somewhat bearable level again, he could make out words. Anders seemed to have noticed him reacting (even if Varric wasn’t sure if his eyelid had actually moved even the tiniest bit) and was talking to him in his Healer-voice now. It just looked like Varric had missed most of it.

“... need to be awake for this, I’m afraid. Cleansing your blood will be painful, but if we don’t do it, you’ll die within the next couple of minutes. Do you understand me?”

Varric understood there was more pain to come, but with what he was going through at the moment, it seemed like it couldn’t get worse in any way.

Seconds later he found out that it could get worse and also that, suddenly, roaring in pain didn’t hurt half as much as whatever Blondie was doing to him.

-

Everyone jerked when the screaming started, but Hawke caught herself first and threw herself at the door, intent on breaking it down with sheer force apparently.

Aveline, though, was quick enough to throw herself in between the wood and the rogue mid-air and they collided with a thump, landing in a heap on the ground. Hawke was instantly back on her feet, but this time Fenris and Isabela stepped in, too, and gripped her arms, dragging her back and down the stairs, while Aveline got back on her feet wincing painfully and followed them.

All the while they could hear Varric’s pain driving him into one scream after the other, interrupted by a few seconds of silence when he clearly tried to hold back, which was marked by heavy grunting and swallowed moans, but at least it was further away now that they were in the library.

Hawke wriggled in her friends’ grasp and later remembered that she had even been hissing and kicking around, but in that moment it sounded like Varric was tortured by something far worse than darkspawn or shades and it was her protective instinct that kicked in, desperate to help in any way she possibly could.

Apparently breaking down a door and knocking out the mage currently trying to heal him seemed like a good plan.

“By the Maker, Hawke, calm down!” Aveline tried to reason with her and earned a kick in the shin, which prevented Fenris from saying whatever he had just taken a deep breath to voice. Isabela, however, was not as easily intimidated, and when Hawke threw her head around to her side in her next attempt of freeing herself, the pirate reached back and slapped her across the face. Hard.

“Hawke, would you calm the fuck down now?!”

Over their leader’s head, Fenris glared at Isabela while Hawke went limp between them for a moment. Then she slowly raised her head and relaxed her muscles, indicating for her companions to let go. They did so reluctantly, under the sharp watch of Aveline.

“I’m sorry,” Hawke muttered when she saw the way they all carefully loosened their muscle and massaged various body parts where she had hit or kicked them before.

“The warden is doing his best, I presume. It will do the dwarf no good to interrupt the process,” Fenris stated, thankfully not mentioning the way he must bruise under his clothing. Hawke distantly remembered an elbow connecting with his stomach.

“And now’s probably not the best time to catch a glance of naked Varric goodness,” Isabela added drily, making much clearer that she was cross with Hawke for kicking her shin so hard. However, a certain softness in her look indicated that she was just as worried as the other rogue was.

“What happened?” Merrill’s voice came from the stairs. She’d been in the kitchen, mixing some healing herbs Anders had asked her for and Hawke was pretty sure she’d stayed there when she’d heard the screams begin.

“Hawke decided to kill Varric with interrupting the cleansing process,” Aveline stated, still cross with her friend.

“Oh Hawke, you mustn’t interrupt,” the Dalish told her with a sad look. “It sounds... well, just about as worse as it is, but Anders needs to clean his blood from the poison and there is really no other way. It takes a lot of concentration. I don’t think I could do it, even if I had Anders’ healing powers.”

Fenris, always wary of magic in general, piped up. “’Cleaning his blood’? Sounds like blood magic to me – isn’t that right up your sleeve?”

Merrill looked almost affronted, but then gave an answer nevertheless. “No, it’s not blood magic. It’s not even real magic in itself. It’s a process of using the right potions and herbs at the same time, which have been grown with the help of healing magic.” She paused for a second, then carefully added: “I think you could also use blood magic, but it’s impossible with dwarves of couse.”

Fenris still glowered, although he kept his hatred of magic mostly to himself at the moment.

Hawke, however, felt like the knot in her stomach twisted even tighter. “Because dwarfs are immune to magic.” She felt a little dizzy then.

“Then how is Anders even helping him?” Aveline looked confused.

“Yeah, does that mean all the stuff he did before was just a waste of energy?” Isabela joined in, and suddenly all eyes were on Merrill.

The Dalish’s cheeks were splotched pink while she tried to explain, her hands fluttering around like butterflies performing an intricate dance. “It’s not been a complete waste. Magic can’t influence Varric directly, but Anders tried to work against the poison, which is not part of his body. And then there’s a lot of potions of course – Varric might dislike the taste,” she smiled a bit, “but they’re the only things that can help dwarfs in this scenario.”

Hawke was sure this was good-ish news, but she still didn’t feel any better.

Bodhan chose that moment to knock at the door frame.

“Yes?”

“Messere Hawke, Master Anders said that Master Varric is resting now.”

That immediately got the attention of everyone and every bit of relaxation that had returned during Merrill’s explanation dissolved instantly to make room for fearful tension.

The dwarf looked at them sympathetically. “He is already on his way out, but asks one of you to stay with Master Varric for the night, while he retrieves additional material from his home. He stressed that one person was to stay with Master Varric,” he hurried to add when everyone started storming past him and towards the staircase.

They stopped in their tracks.

“You should go, Hawke” Aveline stated calmly. “It’s your house. I’m fine to go back to the barracks now that I know he’s... resting.” She didn’t say ‘well’ but at this point, no one doubted that he was fairly far away from being ‘well’. “I’ll come back tomorrow evening.”

Fenris lowered his head in agreement. “She is right. I will return tomorrow unless you need my assistance earlier. I’ll be at my house.”

They left together. Now only Isabela and Merrill remained, both reluctant to go. Isabela had crossed her arms in front of her chest. “He’s sort of like my room-mate at the Hanged Man except I don’t really live there and we don’t share a room. I’m not going to leave him to die in your arms-“ Her eyes widened when Hawke’s eyes turned steely. “-Shit, sorry, that was actually a very stupid thing to say. What I mean is, that-“

Hawke recovered. It was the middle of the night, on the verge of morning even, and everyone had been on edge ever since Varric had been injured. That was Isabela’s way of caring – it was stupid to have been shocked in the first place. “I know you worry. You can stay here if you like? Go upstairs, if you want to?”

Isabela quickly shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll be at the Hanged Man and come back tomorrow, too. Maybe bring some of his stuff. Come on, Daisy. We’re leaving.”

Merrill seemed not quite down with Isabela’s decision, but the pirate had already linked arms with her. “I’ll walk you home so you don’t get lost or molested by mean Lowtowners,” she told the elf and Merrill finally bowed to her destiny. “Except for me, of course,” Isabela added in an afterthought and winked at Hawke.

“Tell Varric I hope he will get better soon!” Merrill told Hawke and then left with the pirate. The way Isabela swayed her hips meant that she would probably find solace for the night, maybe in the arms of a lonely guard or on the lap of one of the girls at the Blooming Rose.

“Simply call if you need anything, Messere,” Bodhan then offered and with one last warm look, he disappeared in the depths of the house again, leaving Hawke to slowly climb the stairs. Now that she was finally allowed in, she realized how scared she was of what she would find. She wasn’t used to Varric being seriously injured. It seemed strange now.

Before she could think too much about it, she shook herself. Varric shouldn’t be left alone for long at this stage. She only stopped short from the door when her eyes fell on the crossbow leaning against the wall.

“He’s probably glad to have you close,” she said and realized at the same moment that she had just talked to Bianca like... well, like Varric did. _Great_. This was most certainly the first sign of an impending brain damage.

Nevertheless, she picked up the weapon and then, knocking softly at her own door once (which felt incredibly weird) entered the dimly lit room. The first thing she saw was actually Sandal, who had gathered empty flasks and dirty pieces of cloth that Anders had left and now went past her with a friendly smile.

The door clicked shut behind him and she took one steadying breath before she walked over to the bed. Varric’s boots had been haphazardly dumped at the foot of the bed and his coat, bloodied and stiff from dirt lay in a pile next to them. Hawke realized that the rags Sandal had carried must’ve been Varric’s tunic.

All these thoughts served only as distraction, one last attempt of not looking at the person on the bed, but there was finally nothing else to look at and Hawke sucked in a breath in shock.

Varric was still mostly filthy, but where Anders had removed the grime, countless bruises were visible from where he’d been buried under the collapsed house. In addition, a net of greenish-black veins raked over his whole torso like an intricate tattoo and the only way Hawke could tell her friend was still alive was the rattling sound that accompanied each irregular breath.

Only after another moment of stealing herself, she could look at his face and noticed that he was in fact watching her from hooded eyes. They were the only thing that seemed to have remained in their original colour: warm, deep amber, almost the colour of good whiskey.

Something in her un-knotted and her shoulders fell, while she helplessly lifted Bianca and, at loss for anything else to say, whispered: “I brought Bianca.”

She made the last couple of steps and sat down on the chair next to the bed, carefully placing the crossbow on her knees. Varric’s eyes followed her and he turned his head the slightest bit before he winced. It took him a moment to gather himself again but then he managed a couple of words in a rough, dry voice that paid the toll of his screaming before.

“My two... favourite... girls.”

The relief that flooded Hawke’s veins was so strong she physically slouched down a bit, more and more tension leaving her.

“It’s good to hear you talking. I talked to Bianca before and I’ll gladly hand back that job to you.”

He coughed, winced, grunted in pain – and Hawke realised that had been an attempt of laughter, for which she was instantly sorry. She reached out, unsure of if and where she could touch him without causing him any more pain and then settled for the sheets inches away from his left hand.

“Ow...” His eyes disappeared briefly and came back, which it took Hawke a minute to understand was him rolling his eyes. Then they focused on her again. “What did you... talk about?”

She smiled. “Oh, we were just gossiping about you.”

He moved his head minimally to the side, which was probably supposed a no-shake. “She would... never.”

“Fine, you got me. We actually talked about the bravest, most handsome, most _stupid_ dwarf we both know.” Hawke stopped herself for a minute and felt really soppy for the single tear that threatened to spill from her eye. She blinked it away furiously.

Suddenly something warm touched her fingers and she looked up to see Varric had moved his hand a bit, covering hers in his. She carefully pulled out her thumb and stroked over the back of his hand, afraid she’d do any more damage if she gripped it. “Don’t ever do that again, Tethras. Deal?”

He looked almost unhappy now, but she couldn’t be sure in the darkness. “Deal,” he croaked. Then he closed his eyes and Hawke wondered if he had fallen asleep again, but after a while, he whispered: “I dreamt of you... you know? When I was... out.”

She was still stroking his hand, but couldn’t bring herself to stop. He didn’t pull back either. In her mixture of relief, happiness and a remaining tension that wouldn’t go away, not as long as her friend was in pain and just two steps away from being more dead than alive, she muttered: “Good. You deserve nightmares.”

His hand squeezed hers very softly and then exhaustion came over him, sending him asleep again.

Hawke didn’t move an inch. Damned be a crick in the neck in the morning – she wouldn’t move and wake her friend, not even if an Archdemon came to knock on her door. Minutes turned into an hour and she couldn’t find rest even if she’d sat in another position. So she started humming something.

It was just a melody she’d probably heard somewhere; she couldn’t exactly pin it down, but it was familiar and calming enough as to not disturb Varric. Hawke kept humming softly.

-

In his sleep, the scent of vanilla found Varric and he knew he was safe. The pain was dulled; warmth crept back into his hands and feet.

And there was the song, _her_ song. Only a soft hum, barely reaching him in his mostly dreamless sleep, and some notes were off – but it was unmistakably Bianca’s Song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" - Leona Lewis.
> 
> I have no idea how long this is going to be, and I'm sorry that it's totally clichè-d and sappy BUT THE FEELS. ALL THE HAWKE+VARRIC FEELS.  
> Come find me on my tumblr, hanna-notmontana, so we can talk and cry about those two idiots.
> 
> Thank you for your kudos!!


	3. You're Where the Wild Things Are

* * *

* * *

_(9:31 Dragon)_

Varric sat down, propping Bianca up on the wall next to him. “I’ll stay up for a while, you others go to sleep.”

Hawke settled down next to him. “Wake me when you get tired,” she offered, unwrapping the small blanket from her bundle. Merrill next to her had conjured up a small flame which she contained between her hands and warmed herself. Anders had already curled up under his own blanket, snoring quietly.

The leader of the small group smiled to herself – Anders had the rare talent to sleep wherever they went. He didn’t care about his whereabouts or the temperature or dampness. If he knew he was safe, his lights were out faster than Hawke could say ‘human rights for mages’.

She lay down too, then, pretending not to notice that Merrill slowly inched closer and closer. Even though the Deep Roads were close to lava at many points, they had chosen this cavern off the main road for two reasons – one, it surrounded them almost completely and was small, which made bad surprises impossible and two, there was no Lyrium painting lines on the stone walls. Not even Varric as a dwarf was too keen on spending too much time around the dangerous material.

But the missing lava also made the cavern fairly cold and the walls were even a bit damp, growing fungi, which didn’t exactly add to a homey feeling. When Merrill – still missing actual shoes with soles and as per usual lacking a bag, satchel or backpack to carry decent expedition material with her – finally made contact with her, Hawke sighed silently and pushed her blanket over to the smaller elf, acting as if she was still asleep. To make it more convincing, she turned on her side, now facing Varric, who gave her a mildly amused look when she carefully blinked open one eye to see if her plan had worked.

Now he grinned broadly and brought up a finger to his lips, winking.

After a bit of commotion in her back, Merrill seemed to have accepted the thin blanket and thankfully went to sleep not soon after.

Hawke, however, remained wide awake even though exhaustion settled in her body now that the day (or was it night on the surface? You couldn’t tell in the Deep Roads and she had lost her internal clock days ago) of fighting was over. Originally, they had planned to find a new place for the camp today, but after the giant spider and hordes of darkspawn, she realized that they needed a break and since there had been no contradiction to her suggestion, they’d set up camp for the night. At least Sandal was on his way back to his father – the boy was a massive mystery to Hawke, but she had taken him to her heart.

For a while, she tried really hard to go to sleep, but as it usually was with trying too hard to fall asleep, you ended up as awake as you’ve never been before in life. This was the case now, too, and finally she sat up, careful not to wake the other two.

Varric looked up when she scooted over and sat next to him, leaning back against a relatively dry spot of wall.

“So you’re not tired of the Deep Roads yet?” the dwarf asked, features barely visible in the glow of the Lyrium outside their cavern.

“That pun hurt so much I might actually start to cry,” Hawke deadpanned and nudged him friendly.

“I’m sorry. The Deep Roads are getting on my nerves, I guess. There really is nothing remotely poetic to be said about here. It’s all just a dark, miserable place full of nug shit.”

“And gold.”

“True. Though that’s probably covered in nug shit, too.”

“You really are a ray of sunshine in my miserable rogue life, aren’t you?” Hawke joked, but at the same time actually meant it. Talking to her friend made the depressing surroundings much less depressing, even if the conversation currently revolved around nug shit.

“What are you going to do with your share once we’re back on the surface?” She asked then, partly because she wanted to get away from shit and partly because she was actually curious. Of course she knew that Varric had his fingers in many pies – though not the actual ones, as he liked to remind her at times – but aside from his tab at the Hanged Man, she rarely saw him actually spend money on something.

He cocked his head for a moment and then told her: “Pay a decent round at the Hanged Man for everyone. Make new friends!”

She laughed quietly. “Gold is certainly going to help with that. What’s wrong with your old friends, though?”

Varric patted her arm placatory. “Nothing! I just wouldn’t want to pester them with favours I can pester a lower class of, let’s say, _friend-ish_ people.”

“Favours?” Hawke dug deeper amusedly. “You never hold back when you need a favour!”

“Not all favours are suited for the ears of our young Daisy over there...” he wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. Now Hawke had to grin.

“You know, the girls at the Blooming Rose help with the _favours_ you need without you shouting drinks first. Or the boys, if that’s more suitable for your _favours_.” Admittedly, she was a bit curious about Varric’s life, mostly because he could be a huge flirt with everyone when he wanted to, but didn’t offer much information about himself. She’d never seen him with someone in that way before, so she couldn’t be sure – even if the crossbow named Bianca seemed to be a huge give-away. Still, that could’ve also been his mother, sister or pet nug.

Varric gave her an ‘I-see-what-you-did-there’ look, but answered nevertheless. “With all my manliness, there isn’t enough room for any more testosterone. And I have you know that I’m a gentleman through and through – I would never visit such an establishment. No, if I can’t woo my intended then I shall go to sleep with just Bianca for company!” The last part was recited with such enthusiasm that Hawke was almost sure it was part of the Varric-Tethras-story the dwarf would tell if he’d ever create a story about his own life.

She played along. “Well, Serah Tethras, you have sufficiently wooed me with this display of gentlemanliness. You take away my breath!” Fluttering eyelids and one hand on his knee, one over her heart underlined the performance perfectly.

They shared a laugh and then fell silent for a while, simply staring into the darkness, spending each other warmth and company.

Although it had all been a joke, Hawke couldn’t help but keep thinking about Varric’s words. The girls and Madame Lusine at the Blooming Rose knew him by first name – but then again, he had so many businesses going on that he could be supplying the Rose with fresh towels for all she knew. All of Kirkwall knew him by name, and everyone who could spare a coin had bought him a drink to hear a story.

Varric also had a hands-on character, but she’d never seen him treat any of the serving girls at the Hanged Man with anything less than respect and even Isabela, who’d thrown herself at everyone in their group of friends more than once, including Hawke, never received more than a pat on the knee when they were sitting next to each other during endless rounds of cards.

Isabela scratched an itch if she felt one – which was on a fairly regular basis, meaning: almost every night and Hawke was not ashamed to admit that she, too, was absolutely capable to find entertainment herself if she looked for some. But Varric – Varric with the low-cut tunics, the wit and the charm never seemed to invite anyone upstairs into his suite.

Hawke carefully glanced at her friend. In the semi-darkness, his hair was as black as their surroundings, but a small ray of light fell on his neck, across his Adam’s apple and down his chest which was, as always, exposed. Even when he was covered in the dirt of the Deep Roads and in the darkness she could see how good he looked and she was only half-surprised to find that her offer, spoken in joke, contained a grain of truth.

If Varric felt inclined, she would definitely consider spending the night with him. A part of her was curious simply due to the fact that she’d never slept with a dwarf before, and the fact that he was more than pleasing to her eye only added to her willingness. He’d be fun in bed, she bet, and suddenly longed very much to find out.

Maybe in the future, once they were out of the Deep Roads, she’d get a chance to run her fingers over that inviting, broad chest and-

“I think Daisy’s having a nightmare. You should go and lie down for a bit, I bet she’ll be better once she feels your presence. She’s weird like that.”

Hawke shook herself to push back those very pleasing thoughts and saw that Varric was right – Merrill was making a face in her sleep and muttered unintelligible under her breath.

“You mean once she smells the sweat and darkspawn blood?” she murmured and Varric winked at her.

“Wake me later,” Hawke ordered him and when he nodded reassuringly, she curled up next to Merrill, trying to fall asleep. She had almost drifted away when she felt something warm and heavy covering her, but was too far gone to understand what had happened.

Merrill calmed down significantly in her sleep when a faint vanilla scent sweetened the air and soon mingled with the earthy, leathery smell of Varric’s coat draped over Hawke sleeping next to her.

* * *

* * *

Hawke awoke to the soft light of early morning falling into the room through the high windows of the room and her arm tingling as if ants were crawling all over her skin.

She must’ve fallen asleep at some point during the early morning hours and although it couldn’t have been for very long, seeing as the actual morning with its bustling people and businesses was still a good way off, it had been enough to let her arm fall asleep. That was most likely because it was still stretched out on the bed, her own hand limp and still covered by Varric’s hand and the angle at which she’d fallen asleep, leant slightly forward, still clad in the leather chest-piece of her armour had cut down on the blood flow significantly.

Trying not to wriggle too much as the blood came back to her limb, she blinked a few times and yawned. But trying to be quiet was to no avail, because as she still sorted her thoughts, Varric blinked his eyes open.

She tried to focus on them, because in the pale morning light, she could actually see him better and now the paleness of his skin contrasted even more sharply with the black veins covering his chest and the glaring red gashes that had not all been covered up by Anders before.

Varric’s eyes, however, no matter how sleepy and exhausted he looked otherwise, were bright in the soft light and although she’d seen them hundreds of times in broad daylight, dim light or semi-darkness, they had never looked that warm, soft and clear before.

They also looked worried, eyebrows slowly furrowing atop them.

“Hawke-“

He tried, but his voice, raw before, was now scratching painfully. She noticed a mug and a carafe of water on the nightstand and quickly moved to help him to something to drink. Hawke ignored the way every muscle in her body seemed to scream ‘take off that armour and never move again’; she told herself the soreness was nothing in comparison to what Varric was going through and simply clenched her teeth before she leant forward, a bit unsure of how to proceed with feeding her friend some liquid.

When her eyes fell onto a pile of pillows in the corner that Anders must’ve pushed from the bed in order to make the surface flatter, she grabbed some of them, conscious that Varric followed her with his eyes. Carefully and agonising slowly she pushed them one by one under the single pillow the dwarf had been resting on during the night and although he clenched his eyes when he was slowly propped up , he didn’t make a sound. She muttered that she was sorry, but one pointed look from him made her leave it at that.

Finally, she helped him drink at least a couple of sips and although even swallowing seemed to hurt, he was really thankful.

“I could have been the.... first dwarf to die of thirst... while being poisoned,” he mused and Hawke sat down again, watching with relief how, with the water, life had returned to her friend.

“That’s what I’m here for – to stop you from something stupid as dying. I’d never get the stains out of my sheets.”   

He blinked, amusement dancing in his eyes. Then he moved his head the tiniest bit in what could have been an appreciative nod. “This is where I say... thank you, hm? I- Hawke?”

Varric’s look turned... concerned. In an instant, she was alarmed, her hands sneaking towards her daggers. Was there something in the room? Did he feel worse? Was there any danger?

“Yes?” It came out harder than she had planned for it.

“Calm down. Just... are you hurt? There’s... blood.”

She relaxed again and when he lifted his hand slowly and clearly in some pain, she reached out with her own hand, unsure of what he wanted. He settled on her forearm, his hand easily reaching around although his grip was light as a feather. The copper stains from where she had only quickly wiped away his blood were now appallingly obvious.

“It’s yours,” she admitted, having forgotten about it temporarily. Now that he’d brought her attention back to it again, though, she suddenly became overly aware of it. It was everywhere – down the front of her chest-piece, on her arms, up to her neck, down her thighs.

Hawke scratched self-consciously on her bare upper arm. “I didn’t have time yet to get cleaned up.”

He simply stared at her with a look she was unable to pin down. There were a lot of things she counted on him saying now, from witty to sappy (because that was what tended to happen when you were both in pain and having cheated death more or less) but she wasn’t prepared for two things.

The first thing was a soft knock at the door, followed by Anders poking his head through, a greeting on his lips, when Varric said wonderingly: “You still smell like vanilla.”

Indicating the healer in the doorframe that she’d be out in a minute, she laughed and carefully freed her arm before reaching down to the small purse tied to her waist. It was the same one Varric had retrieved from the pickpocket at their first meeting, the same one she’d carried everywhere. She untied it and held it open for Varric to see.

A smile spread on his face, his eyes twinkling amusedly and it was the first look that made him seem perfectly fine, as if nothing had happened before, as if he wasn’t poisoned and hadn’t been buried under a house.

“All this time, you... carried biscuits in that purse? Vanilla biscuits?”

She nodded, slightly embarrassed, but mostly filled with joy at the sight of her old Varric again. “My mother used to make them and she showed Sandal. He’s surprisingly good at it if you ignore collateral damage like broken bowls. I always carry some.”

“And all this time I wondered...” Varric said and then he unexpectedly laughed. Not without wincing afterwards, but for just a second, he seemed so much like his healthy, relaxed self that Hawke simply had to join in.

Another thing seemed to bother him, then, and he asked mischievously: “Then where do you carry ... your gold?”

She winked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

A soft knock on the door reminded them both of Anders outside, so whatever Varric had been on the verge of replying changed to: “Go and get cleaned up... It’s not like I’m going anywhere. Let Blondie... poke at me for a while.”

Hawke nodded and got up. “I’ll be back.” She walked away from the bed, pointedly not looking back or lingering too much – that would’ve been ridiculous. Varric was probably out of danger as long as Anders was with him and she’d see him again after her bath. He’d be fine.

Still, she had to force herself not to look back over her shoulder.

Outside the door, she greeted Anders, who looked like he hadn’t gotten much sleep, either, but at least he had changed clothes and looked like he’d washed himself. Again, her hand moved towards a copper stain on her skin, rubbing it absentmindedly.

“I’ll go and take a bath. If you need anything, Bodhan is there to help and you can call for me. I’ll be quick.”

Anders nodded, giving her a small smile. “I _think_ I’ll be fine without you standing watch for a small while.” He thought about something for a moment, and then added: “I need to repeat the cleansing process; it might still hurt him a lot.” _He could scream again,_ is what the former warden didn’t say out loud, although it was clear to them both.

“He’s going to be alright, though?”

“Yes,” Anders answered firmly, and although Hawke wasn’t sure how much of that was just his Healer-voice-lie and how certain he really was, she gave him a thankful nod and watched him disappear into Varric’s, no, _her_ bedroom.

_

“Blondie, I swear if this is... payback for something, I’m probably really.... sorry by now,” Varric grunted out between clenched teeth. Although the cleansing process wasn’t nearly as painful as hours ago and he was mostly alright in his head at the moment, it still was the most awful thing he’d ever experienced.

At least when the healer made a small cut on Varric’s chest this time, the blood welling up was mostly free from traces of oily black and green.

“You’re not going to die,” Anders proclaimed, wiping away the fresh blood with just enough pressure to press the small cut closed.

“That’s a relief,” Varric muttered and realized with some actual relief that at least speaking and adding different tones to his voice didn’t hurt much anymore. It was nice to be speaking in any other way than monotonously flat.

Blondie gave him a warning look. “You can’t move around for the next couple of days, though, and no fights for at least two weeks. You have two partially fractured ribs, your right arm has been twisted pretty badly and although nothing is broken, you’re basically a walking bruise.” He waited for that to sink in before he added: “The wound the spike drilled into your back needs to be cleaned every six hours to avoid infection and you might experience trouble with breathing and headaches for a while until the rest of the poison in your bloodstream is gone.”

Varric tried to follow all that, but concentrating produced a throbbing headache. It didn’t seem like he was in mortal danger anymore, and he had obviously gotten lucky when he’d been buried under that house – well, as far as one was lucky in that situation, of course. But still, it seemed all fairly odd, considering how much everyone had worried not hours before, and how dire the situation had seemed then. He decided to broach the subject once more.

“How bad was it, Blondie? You make it sound a lot... better than I expected it to be.”

Anders sighed while he gathered his things, securely putting them back into his satchel. When he looked up, his mouth was a hard line. “I didn’t think you’d make it. The blood loss alone was dangerous enough, and Merrill was right when she suspected the pain might drive you mad. It’s one of the side-effects of the poison. When Hawke knocked you out, she bought you time, but usually the poison is hard to stop once it’s reached your heart...” He paused, and Varric looked down his own chest, where the black veins had clearly reached the area where his heart was pumping blood through his veins, still a bit weak, but nevertheless working. The veins had crept up much further, up his neck and only stopping below his right ear.

“So why am I not frolicking with maidens and ale in the after-life?”

The healer shrugged, somewhat helplessly. “I don’t know. You stayed sane, somehow, and pulled through. I don’t know how you did it. I’m just glad you did.”

It was unusual to hear something like that from Anders, a man whom Varric regarded with a mixture of respect for standing up for himself and risking his freedom to help the Lowtowners, and unease for his outbursts partly fuelled by Justice. They got along well, but he’d never considered him as close as Isabela or even Merrill, much less as close as Hawke.

“I never disappoint,” Varric simply said and the two men left it at that.

“You need to be cleaned up, but you can’t get up at the moment. I can send for Bodhan and he can bring you some water, but you’ll need help with your back. Do you want me to do it for you?” Anders was all business again.

The thought of sitting upright without the support of pillows, though, didn’t seem much inviting to Varric at all and he shook his head. “I’ll do it later. Just need to rest for a little while.” After a second, he added: “Oh joy, a whole sentence without pausing.”

Anders didn’t seem happy, but also looked like he wouldn’t push at the moment. “Fine. But do it sooner rather than later.” Then he raised his voice. “Hawke, you can come in now.”

Varric raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything, the door opened and their friend poked her head through, hair wet, eyes bright, face red from scrubbing ferociously. “Pretend I wasn’t lurking like darkspawn?”

“Darkspawn lurks quieter than you do,” Anders deadpanned and Varric had to grin while Hawke growled in mock annoyance. The Healer simply ignored her and turned back to his patient.

“I’ll be back tonight, and I think the others will stop by, too. But I can’t stress this enough – no shenanigans!” He looked back at Hawke, who was still lingering in the doorway with only her head visible. “Especially you two. Rest and cleaning-up. No Bianca, no card games, no walking around.”

“We are allowed to breathe, aren’t we?” Hawke, whose bath had not only washed away the grime but also seemed to have rekindled her spirits, asked in false seriousness. “And talk?” Varric added from his side of the room.

Anders massaged his temples. “You two are impossible. People who have lost limbs are easier to deal with!”

While Hawke and Varric grinned at each other, Anders grabbed his things and walked to the door, which Hawke finally opened wide enough to let him pass and step back into the room herself. She grabbed hold of the mage’s forearm, though, and squeezed it once, muttering “Thank you.”

Varric pretended he hadn’t noticed and Anders only nodded in acknowledgement. “I’ll see you later.”

Then he closed the door behind himself.

_

“At least one of us looks nice now,” Varric observed and Hawke rolled her eyes at him affectionately. It wasn’t like she’d made any effort whatsoever – her bath had been the quickest she’d ever taken; she’d scrubbed furiously to rid herself of the red on her skin and had only stopped and breathed hard for a while when she realized that she was sitting in a tub full of water mingling with Varric’s blood.

She’d gotten out, drained all the water and had finished washing herself in the small basin in the corner of the room. Her daggers had always been in reach, the paranoia of something happening in her bedroom too overwhelming although not logical at all. Then she’d pulled on the first pieces of garment she could find, the tunic embroidered with the Amell coat of arms and matching soft trousers. Somehow, wearing the skirt she usually wore around the house seemed impractical now.

“I always knew ‘drowned rat’ was a look that suited me,” she deadpanned and then went to sit down next to him again.

“Now, now – in all our time together, you have never looked like a drowned rat,” Varric told her, “and believe me, I’ve seen a lot of you these past couple of years.”

“As much as I’ve seen of you. Although you have never looked this bad before.”

“Oh, it’s mostly dirt. Once I’ve had a decent bath, I’ll be back to being the old sex symbol you’re used to,” he quipped.

Hawke cocked her head. “Anders should have offered to take you to the tub then. It’s not like staying filthy will do avoiding infections any good.”

Varric reached for her again, an almost unconscious move, it seemed. “Calm down. He said I needed to clean up, but I didn’t want him intruding while you were soaking in the tub in what I _hoped_ would be a relaxing manner. Should have known you’d be in and out faster than the Grand Cleric paying a visit to the Blooming Rose.”

Grinning, she stood. “Well, as much as I honour your nobility, you still need to be given a scrub down. Or five,” she added with a judging look at his bare chest. “Do you want me to get Bodhan and Sandal? They must be up by now.”

The injured dwarf didn’t seem convinced and she put it down to his injuries and pain-muddled brain that it took him a moment to spit out what was bothering him. “As much as I’d actually like a bath right now, I don’t want to impose on them. Bodhan is a respectable man and does much for you. However, he is in no way in debt to me and don’t has to help me with this.” He carefully moved his head to the left and right and then lifted his arms a bit. “Look, I can move around. Sort of move around, at least. If you get me water, I’ll do it myself.”

Hawke didn’t really think that was a smart idea. Varric probably shouldn’t move at all and even if he managed to get clean all by himself, he’d regret this later in the day when the pain doubled.

But Hawke was also a fighter and had enough in common with the dwarf to know that he desperately clung to the last piece of dignity that he had left at the moment. She’d hate it, too, if someone tried to wash her like a child, even if it was the logical option.

So she smiled at him and got up, picking up the boots and leather coat on the way to the door. “I’ll get you some water and give these to Bodhan. I’m sure he won’t mind taking care of them for me.”

Varric nodded, quiet appreciation and thankfulness in his eyes.

_

Hawke had brought him towels, a cloth and warm water in a brass basin and although the water had soon turned a bloody brown, slowly getting rid of the filth on his body was a heavenly feeling. H e didn’t mind that he was sitting on Hawke’s bed mostly naked now – his own skin had rarely felt any better than now, even if everything hurt and he turned extensively purple from bruising.

As Blondie had predicted, breathing was complicated enough as it was, which was why he didn’t try and somehow dunk his head into the basin to wash his hair – he was barely getting air into his lungs, holding it inside even just for a second appeared too exhausting to try.

The net of veins coming from his lower back and threading around his left side, across his stomach and chest and up to his neck were still pitch-black with a sick green-ish hue and touching them caused a pain akin to burning oneself with hot iron. Wiping down his front was therefore a terrible act, during which he almost blacked out once when he touched an especially sensitive part.

But finally, it was done, and just as he noticed that only his back was left to be cleaned up, someone knocked at the door softly. He draped the fresh sheet from the foot of the bed over his lap – even if it wasn’t about his own modesty, there were rules and he was a guest in Hawke’s estate. Then he called out: “Come in.”

Hawke – now with dry hair that seemed ridiculously fluffy due to being freshly washed – stepped in and crinkled her nose when she saw the dirty water. “Urgh, mine looked the same.”

“Imagine how worse it’ll look once I figure out how to get my head into the basin without suffocating,” Varric wondered and his friend looked up as if she’d noticed his still-dusty hair only now.

Determination settled in her eyes and before he could protest, she’d emptied the basin and had filled it with fresh water. She placed a second, empty bowl on the floor in front of the bed and looked at him expectantly. “Can you bend forward? Not that you should, obviously, but that hair has more potential infectious... _things_ in it than Darktown at night.”

Varric nodded. “If we’re quick.” He didn’t even try to protest, but made a mental note to somehow make it up to Hawke as soon as he was better. He’d find a way.

It was the strangest thing he’d ever done, sitting on the edge of the bed, sheet across his lap, upper body bent forward, head bent. Exposing his neck made him feel very vulnerable, but when Hawke’s fingers touched the nape of his neck gently, weaving into the root of his hair there and pouring water over it, he relaxed into the touch as much as was possible in the uncomfortable position.

They ignored soap this time; when only clean water dripped from Varric’s head, he carefully sat back on the bed and Hawke rubbed his hair dry gently before gathering some of it and tying it together with a leather string like he usually did.

When he heard her splash in the basin, he wanted to ask what she was doing, but she simply started wiping down his back without saying a word. The only sound in the room was their combined breathing and he found himself relaxing into the touch.

The closer she came to his lower back, though, the more he prepared himself, but she didn’t just keep on working her way down. Instead, she stopped and asked: “Tell me if it hurts too much, alright?” Her voice was almost as raw as his and he wasn’t sure of the way she would look at him if he turned around. He didn’t want to find out.

Instead, he cleared his throat and simply agreed. “I will.”

Varric felt the fingers of the hand not holding the cloth wander down his back then, pushing at the sheet. He let it fall down some more and suddenly wondered if Hawke minded that he was sitting here naked – after all, there was no way she hadn’t noticed, not with the sheet riding as low as it did now.

She wasn’t prude or anything, but he wasn’t sure if there was a rule regarding friends sitting naked in one another’s beds. Even if one was injured.

But she simply rested her hand on the good side of his back (meaning, the side which only bruised completely instead of having had a spike in it) while she carefully dabbed at the skin around the hole where the spike had sat. It burnt, throbbed painfully and sent jolts of pain through the black net across his chest but finally it was over.

“Thanks,” he said to the wall, unsure of what else to say. It was enough, usually, adequate for an act between friends but this... this felt more than just something friends would do for each other.

Not the way her touch lingered. Not the way his skin burnt when she touched him, burnt in a good way, not from pain but simply from being in contact with her. Not the way they’d shared looks in the last couple of hours. It was different, somehow.

Varric couldn’t talk about something he didn’t understand yet. So ‘thanks’ was all.

Hawke understood, though, he thought. She understood, because her fingers ghosted over his bare back once more before he heard her get up to take away the water. She understood, because she said: “You’re welcome.” And she said it the exact same way he’d said ‘thanks’.

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: 'You're Where the Wild Things Are' by Metallica
> 
> I'm thinking about doing seven chapters, but since each chapter is getting longer and longer, that might have been a ridiculous attempt of keeping some sort of order.  
> Thank you for reading, your kudos and comments! Come freak out with me on my tumblr, hanna-notmontana.


	4. Heroes, just for one day

On the first evening, their friends had piled in all at the same time and while Merrill seemed worried about Varric the most, Anders and Fenris bonded once more over their collective worry about the Dalish trying to do blood magic now that Varric was bleeding so readily from his many cuts. This ended in all three of them being kicked out – Merrill angry because they thought she’d do something like that, Anders and Fenris because they had been unable to hold back their comments. Hawke suspected it was their relief and worry over their friend making them lash out that extremely – usually they held back around each other – but it still didn’t mean she would accept that behaviour.

Isabela stayed the longest and they played Wicked Grace against the orders of Anders. It was the first time Hawke won over Varric without her suspecting him to let her have won.

The second and third day were better – visitors usually turned up by themselves. Anders in the mornings and evenings, Fenris only once, on midday. Merrill showed up in the mornings, after the healer had left, with fresh milk and eggs which served for a pleasant breakfast although Varric shared his concern as to whether she had actually paid for the groceries. Isabela replaced the Dalish on the afternoons

Her visit on the third day had been short, but unpleasant. (Which wasn’t necessary the pirate’s fault, but rather the fault of the messenger she’d met in front of Varric’s suite at the Hanged Man when she’d collected a couple of his things.) The messenger had pushed a gigantic package of letters into her hands. All of them complaints from the Merchants Guild about Varric’s perpetual absence as well as his habit of ignoring every single letter they’d sent so far.

Isabela had dumped the letters on Hawke’s bed and laughed her ass of while they had read them aloud to Varric in turns, but the general message was grim and after Isabela had left again, Hawke became more serious.

“They openly threaten you. You have to react.”

“Bianca will react if they send someone after me,” he tried to argue, petting his crossbow lovingly.

Hawke was fuming, though. It looked like all the ridiculousness she’d watched from the sideline over the years had now reached a boiling point. “Is that any way of talking to each other? They’re merchants, for the Maker’s sake, and they know exactly that I don’t take kind to threats. And neither did you, the last time I checked.”

“Calm down. They’re just a bunch of really old, really complacent blockheads who cling to tradition and etiquette that they remember from Orzammar. Half of them just pretend they’re still underground, living by the same rules on the surface as they have lived down there. They won’t digress from their old ways. I suppose I’ll have to show up there again soon.”

“ _’Consequences will be dire should you fail to attend the next meeting’_. It doesn’t sound like they’re willing to wait until you’re back in the saddle again. The meeting’s tonight.”

Varric made a face. “They will have to. I’m not going anywhere soon, as much as I might want to. I’ll send them a letter. Placate them a bit.”

“Or...” Hawke suddenly had that look in her eyes, the look that usually meant something wore on her sense of honour. “I can go.”

Varric waited for the punch line, but apparently, that was it and his friend was dead serious. “No. You can’t. For one, you’re human. They won’t even let you in. And secondly – are you nuts?”

“They need to understand that the Champion of Kirkwall will not have her friends treated that way. I can throw around with mighty titles, too, if I have to!” She crossed her arms, challenging him with her eyes. Usually he never backed down from such a challenge, but this was dangerous territory. In the worst case, she not only brought up the whole Dwarven Merchants Guild against her, but also threatened his own position, which had been shaky ever since the Lyrium-idol-incident with Bartrand. And as much as he might hate the Guild, a life outside it would be more of a hassle than he was prepared to deal with.

“Even if they don’t kill you in an angry mob, how will you get in? You’re still too _human_ ,” he tried to reason with her.

That gave her something to think about. Finally, she asked: “Who gets to sit on your seat in the Guild? I mean, as a representative of your family? Or... House?”

He narrowed his eyes, unsure of what she drove at. “It’s usually the oldest of a House, which coincides with taking care of finances and business, but there is no actual rule for that. Some of the old ones send their sons or even wives, so long as one of their House occupies the seat.” In an afterthought, he added: “I suppose I could send one of my countless relatives, but where would that lead to?”

The second he finished, he sensed that he had just told Hawke exactly what she wanted to hear and suddenly her plan was clear to him. “ _No._ They wouldn’t believe it.”

But Hawke had already lowered herself on one knee, grinning impishly. “Will you, Varric, of House Tethras, will do me the honour of becoming my fake fiancé for the time being?”

“Andraste’s tits, you’ve gone mad!” He looked at her with wide eyes, too shocked to even attempt a joke. She couldn’t be serious. She couldn’t be.

“Never thought I’d be stood up like this,” she stated, still on one knee, but getting more serious by the second. “Varric, this will keep them off your back plus scare them shitless.” The last part made her grin and he couldn’t help but feel the corners of his mouth twitch, too.

“Hawke, you’re-“

“Hey, watch what you’re going to call your new wife!”

They locked eyes for another moment and he could read her sincerity behind the playful attitude. He knew that this had the potential to go horribly wrong, but she was in the mindset to help, something no one would be able to argue her out of.

What was wrong with him? Usually he valued that in her.

He took a deep breath. “Fine.” Forcing himself to not worry too much about the consequences, he touched the signet ring she’d found for him months and months ago before sliding it off his finger.

Hawke smiled when he placed it in the palm of her hand, folding her fingers over it. “You’ll need this to convince them. And we’ll have to think about the exact words you need to say so they don’t kill you on sight.”

“All that romantic talk makes me swoon,” she told him drily before getting up from the floor again, sitting back down on the bed with him. “Go on then, talk dirty to me.”

“Your wish is my command, future Lady Tethras,” Varric humoured her. Then they started to work on a plan that wouldn’t get Hawke killed, while Varric tried not to think of what he fuck was going on with his life at the moment. Not that all of it was necessarily bad, he mused as Hawke shuffled closer on the bed to make faces at him at the background stories he told her about the members of the Guild, strut around the room waving an imaginary cape and tried to memorise the lines he gave her, every once in a while coming back to him on the bed get a sip of his water or fixate him in one of her I’m-serious-so-stop-trying-to-talk-me-out-of-it looks.

-

Hours later Hawke was still as far away as possible from passing off as even remotely dwarven but she was at least further away from an imminent death upon entering the hall and mentioning his name.

Varric still muttered to himself in disbelief, though. „You cannot possibly want to do this... _Nobody_ goes there voluntarily! Ancestors, I’ve been avoiding it for-“

“ _’The last six times, plus the extraordinary annual meeting to celebrate the founding of the Guild’_ ,” Hawke read out loud the latest of the numerous letters which she had snatched up from the bed. “Look, this one’s addressed to the _‘Head of Noble House Tethras, Deshyr of Kirkwall to the Dwarven Merchants Guild’_. Wait, _that_ is your full title?”

Hawke lowered the parchment when the first tears of laughter spilled from her eyes. She gasped for air, threw herself back on the mattress and couldn’t stop laughing until Varric simply had to join her – at first, he’d been glaring at her, but her laughter was so infectious that he simply had to join in.

It was a ridiculous title after all.

“How will I ever act as a suitable substitute for you if I have to bear that title? I’ll have to wear a pretty dress and all!” She was still laughing, while Varric had resorted to quiet amusement. At her words, though, he suddenly remembered the last – and first – time he’d seen her in formal wear. What a day that had been...

When Hawke wiped her eyes, she noticed that he’d become quiet, and softly asked: “Are you alright?” She didn’t ask whether she’d offended him with her laughter, they knew each other too well to worry about that kind of thing anymore. Now, as it had become normal over the past couple of days, she was always worried about him being in pain. He almost smiled at that, then – the worry and care she showed towards unfortunate strangers and those dear to her alike. She truly was a better person than any of the others, including him, could ever be.

“I’m fine. I just remembered the first time I actually saw you wearing a dress. Coincidentally, you also cried tears of laughter - and worried about your make-up.”

“It was that Champion-party, wasn’t it...” she stared off into the distance. “I remember that day, too. Merrill wore clothes made out of actual leaves and the whole of Hightown was appalled and envious at the same time.”

“That, too,” Varric agreed with a soft hum, while both of them allowed themselves to get lost in the memory of that particular day.

* * *

* * *

_(9:35 Dragon)_

It had all started out with gossip, as it did so often. Some of Hawke’s immediate neighbours had stopped her in the streets, asking about a party to celebrate the whole Champion-of-Kirkwall thing. Of course she had declined, being uncomfortable about the attention anyway.

But then more and more people talked about the supposed party and when a letter from the Viscount arrived, explaining his interest and support in said festivity, Hawke had come running to the Hanged Man and tried to convince Varric that hiding in his suite until the next Blight distracted everyone would work out.

He’d laughed and told her they’d pull through this, amused at the blank horror in her face. After she reluctantly went home again, he’d started organising and with the help of his contacts, Isabela’s enthusiasm about anything that had to do with free alcohol and estates in Hightown and Bodhan Feddic, they had organised the most extravagant yet tasteful celebration Hightown had seen in a long time.

Invitations had been sent out to everyone who was important or thought of themselves as important, there was plenty of food and drink and Varric had worked on a plan with Aveline that made sure Hawke would always be surrounded by one of their group.

After making sure Merrill was dressed for the occasion – if the Hightown thought the leaves-outfit was an outrage, they should’ve seen the ensemble the Dalish had originally chosen – and Isabela was dressed decently, too, he even thought up a way for Aveline to remain in her armour, which also allowed him to carry Bianca. A mansion full of the crème de la crème would need security, and who to provide it better than the captain of the guard and her trusty dwarven colleague?

He arrived at the Amell estate early and had debated bringing flowers, but ultimately had decided against it. If the occasion called for it, he could still cut off a bit of Daisy’s dress.

The elf had been excited for days and Hawke had been glad to allow her to help with finding a dress (not before glaring at _him_ and hissing: “This is all your fault, Tethras!”) and then Isabela had chimed in and suddenly it had turned into a girl’s shopping trip, followed by a girl’s sleep-over and now a girl’s preparation party.

The naughty part of Varric’s brain could imagine quite a few scenarios that went down at such a sleep-over, especially with Isabela around, but since Hawke was probably thinking up ’50 ways to kill my dwarven best friend’, none of these scenarios seemed very likely.

Today was the big day, though, and when he arrived at the estate, flower-less, he could feel a grin spreading on his face. This was going to be a great night!

Bodhan let him in and he stepped into the great hall at the same moment that three excited female voices poured from the door of Hawke’s bedroom and stepped to the balustrade. Daisy was the first to notice him and she barely stayed still when she gushed: “Oh, look, it’s Varric – and he looks handsome!” Three pairs of eyes focused on him and he tipped his hand to his head in greeting. “Such a lovely outfit, Varric!” the elf called down to him then and practically skipped down the stairs.

At the bottom, she twirled a bit and although he had helped her with her choice of dress (not that he would ever admit to that publicly) he humoured her and told her: “Very nice, Daisy. Would you look at that – actual daisies. Just when I thought you couldn’t fit the frolicking-elf-stereotype any better.”

She simply gave him a confused smile and made room for Isabela, who’d followed her down the steps. The pirate wore a long, pristine white skirt that clashed horribly with her mind-in-the-gutter personality, but made her skin look even more exotic than usual – in addition to a corset showing off her midriff, she seemed to have sprinkled something glittering all over herself and Varric was already certain that at least two marriages wouldn’t survive this night with her around looking like this.

“Isabela, don’t you look modest and coy today?”

“Watch it, dwarf, or I might just show you how modest I really am,” she threatened and cupped his cheek shortly, before throwing her head back and laughing. “But Merrill’s right, you do clean up nicely. Nothing against Hawke, though. Girl’s got some fine curves to s-“

She abruptly stopped when she saw Varric was staring past her, at the top of the stairs. Isabela followed his gaze and then whistled low before whispering: “See?”

Of course he saw. A man could’ve been blind and still would have _seen_.

Hawke was standing at the top of the stairs, and the only thing that looked like always was her hair. Jet black, short, a couple of longer strands falling into her face. Her face, which Varric recognised instantly and at the same time didn’t. Someone – most likely Isabela – had lined her eyes with coal, her cheekbones were accentuated by a rose-y blush and her lips looked soft and full with a touch of colour to add to their plumpness.

She was wearing a dress that pooled around her feet and had the colour of the sea, not quite green and not quite blue but somehow working perfectly with her eyes. It was a simple cut, gathered at her breasts and held up by two golden clips attached to the straps that came up from the back and over her shoulders.

The only difference to the highborn of Hightown were the tan lines that spoke of her life in armour – while her arms were tanned, the skin of her shoulders and chest was slightly paler and Varric was sure it looked the same from her knees on upwards. Still, she looked healthy and beautiful, easily playing in the same league as the Hightown women.

Her head was held high, but Varric could almost sense her nervousness as she slowly descended the stairs. When she finally stood in front of him, she looked on, as if waiting for his judgement.

“Hawke, I think you’ve earned yourself the hatred of every single woman in attendance and made your way into the fantasies of every male.” He gave her an amused look, which she seemed to catch thankfully, almost relieved, and answered with a smile and a compliment herself: “Well, Lord Tethras, you are charming and especially good-looking today. All those scornful women will be happy to find solace in your arms tonight.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take a couple if you get too busy,” Isabella provided helpfully and Hawke laughed, more relaxed.

Soon after, Anders and Fenris showed up and Varric watched from the sidelines how they both tried and mostly failed to hide their surprise and awe at how Hawke looked. Varric had had the feeling that Blondie liked the rogue far more than just in a friendly way and he, like Varric, had chosen a dark blue tunic that not only suited him nicely, it also matched him up with Hawke.

Aveline saw her chance for paybeck, remembering too well how the rogue had teased her about being uncomfortable in the simple wedding dress she’d worn at the ceremony with Donnic.

Then the actual guests started to arrive and for a couple of hours, Varric talked to hoards of people, stopped Merrill from dying of a heart-attack at the sight of the food (“I have never seen that much food before in my life, Varric! How on Earth I am supposed to try everything?”) and held back Isabela when she tried to flirt with the Grand Cleric’s sister. He grinned when he watched Aveline disappear into the night with her husband at some point, but his attention never once really left Hawke, who kept to the side lines of the room, still apparently self-conscious about wearing a dress, but at least seeming to enjoy the party. The alcohol helped, probably.

At one point, Anders asked her dance and she reluctantly agreed, and after that it was Isabela who twirled her around, the two of them laughed so loudly quite a lot of Hightown’s more dignified inhabitants wrinkled their noses. Then Merrill got her dance, and although she mixed up something Dalish with the traditional Kirkwall steps, it didn’t look half-bad. Just when Hawke tried to leave the dance floor again, Broody appeared at her side, whispered something and she curtsied before they danced, too, although they kept in the shadows. Broody still disliked the attention.

With a pang of regret, Varric realized he wouldn’t get to ask her to dance. Well, he probably could, of course, but it would look ridiculous and besides, in the story he was spinning about her, it would look much better to have her dance at the side of an elf painted with Lyrium than with the dwarf with the crossbow. Or the Dalish with the daisies-dress, for that matter.

He was surprised, though, when she touched Fenris’ arm in friendly manner after the song had ended and he nodded at her, before she made a beeline for where Varric was standing. Seconds later, she leaned back against the wall next to him, letting out a huff of air. Her cheeks and chest were rosy from exercise and she breathed heavily for a while. Varric held out a crystal glass of white wine for her, which she took with an appreciative nod.

“That wasn’t half bad, wasn’t it?” he told her when she had caught her breath again.

“Isabela was the easiest –she leads,” Hawke told him and grinned at the memory.

“Blondie would lead, too, if you let him.” He watched her closely.

It took her a moment to understand what he was referring to, but then she looked confused. “Anders? I didn’t think... Are you sure?”

Varric simply looked at her, raising his eyebrows. “I’ve told this tale a hundred times. Believe me, he’s waiting for a sign from you.”

“Huh.” She emptied the glass in one gulp, which was rather impressing seeing as it had been almost completely full. “I’ll have to talk to him.”

“About?” Varric asked although he wasn’t sure what he’d do with the information. Of course he needed every single detail of Hawke’s life for the story, the greatest one he’d ever tell. But still, the thought of Blondie and Hawke bothered him. The healer would never keep up with her, never give her his full attention – not as long as that demon was part of him and he was busier fighting for the rights of his kind than with anything else.

She gave him an unhappy look. “I don’t want to hurt him, but...”

Varric gave her a sly grin and tried to hide the relief he felt at that ‘but’. “He’s not the one making your thighs quiver with anticipation?”

Hawke remained in stunned silent for only a second before she positively snorted with laughter. “Oh, _you_... you are _awful_!” She clutched her stomach, slowly sliding down the wall, and he couldn’t help but laugh, too, until they both had tears streaming down their faces.

When they’d calmed down, Hawke wiped her eyes carefully. “Shit, I’ve probably ruined the make-up. Oh, and I can’t believe I just said that.”

“Show me,” Varric muttered and lifted her chin gently with his right hand. “No, you’re still fine.”

“Talking of ‘fine’ – I didn’t know your coat came in different colours.” She touched her fingers to his upper arm. Indeed he had chosen the more formal dove-grey coat for the occasion, which went well with the dark blue tunic and, most importantly, didn’t have darkspawn claw marks on the back.

“Well, do you remember what I told your sister about being rich?”

She thought about it for a moment, before she came up with the answer. “It’s all about throwing a fit if you can’t find a dress that matches your eyes?”

“Exactly. So just think of me trying to fit your eyes.” He winked, knowing fully well that she had succeeded perfectly in matching her own eyes and that his coat was miles away from the true colour of her eyes. Still, they looked good together somehow.

“I’m very flattered,” she humoured him before she pushed herself off the ground. “Now, do you think these people will mind if I disappear for a bit, get some fresh air?”

“I’m sure the loss of your presence will barely be handled by the men and be appreciated by the married women. Lead the way.”

* * *

* * *

“This is the craziest thing you’ve ever done and you fought the damn Arishok,” Isabela stated with an appreciative nod. “I’d love to go in, too – just to see their faces. Varric Tethras married to a human, and the Champion of Kirkwall nonetheless.”

“You do realize this is just a scheme, right? We’re not actually married.” Hawke was about to throw up, suddenly extremely nervous even though she didn’t show it, as per usual. It was just that she had no idea what to expect and the novelty of being ‘married’ had not yet worn off.

“You would be so adorable together, though,” Merrill provided with a dreamy look on her face, not helping with the situation.

“Yes, ‘adorable’,” Anders muttered and Fenris just huffed. In the darkness, the Lyrium made him look even more dangerous.

“Let’s see how adorable Hawke’ll look once she’s kicked out of the assembly,” Aveline stated, her face grim and the grip around her sword tight.

They’d all come to defend their leader should the need arise, but Hawke hoped for everything that it was worth that it wouldn’t end in a disaster.

She took a deep breath, tightening the long, deep blue gown embroidered with the sigil of House Tethras around herself. “I’m going in. If they drag out my bloody and broken body, slap Varric for me.”

Merrill rubbed her back sympathetically once while Isabela fingered the golden sash she wore loosely around her waist, also displaying crest of House Tethras. Then Hawke turned around and pushed open the door to the assembly hall of the Dwarven Merchant Guild with a determined look on her face.

She followed a hallway, marching right past a confused dwarf who stopped mid-step when he saw the crest on her cloak and banged open the doors to the main hall. There was a number of chairs standing in a circle, each adorned with the crest of the House the chair belonged to. A lot of them were already occupied and she didn’t have any trouble finding the one that belonged to Varric.

Ignoring the whispers that arose when she crossed the circle, she went straight for the chair and sat down determinedly before she lifted her head and let her eyes roam over the other occupied chairs. All eyes were on her.

Most of the dwarves of the assembly were male, Hawke only counted two other females beside herself and everyone without any exceptions was distinctively... dwarven.

Finally, one of the oldest members seemed to have caught himself and fixed her with a hostile look. “What is the meaning of this?”

“My name is Hawke, I’m the Champion of Kirkwall and I’ve come to speak in place of Varric of the Noble House Tethras.” They had studied this sentence, and it came out just as cold and challenging as they had intended it to sound like.

“We know who you are,” another dwarf spat. “But Champion or not, you have no business here. Who does Varric think he is, sending you here in his place?”

The looks of all the other dwarves were now distinctly hostile, and quite a few hands had moved into their coats, tightening around the hidden weapons there. Of course no assembly member was officially allowed to bring any weapons, but you would have been a fool not to smuggle in at least one dagger. Everyone did, after all. It was an open secret.

Hawke closed her eyes once, breathing out softly – and then she stood up, towering over everyone in the room even if she wasn’t especially tall in comparison to other humans. They had practiced this, too, and she found the words rolled off her tongue easily, seeing as she truly meant them with all of her heart.

“You made it my business when you threatened my fiancé!”

A gasp went through the room and she sucked in her stomach a bit, making herself look even more intimidating than she already tried to be.

“I speak for him as his future wife, business partner and friend and I will not tolerate a single more threat to his life or that of his family.” She lifted her neck, exposing the thin leather band that held Varric’s ring. It had been too big for her fingers, so she’d turned it into a sort of amulet instead. “I bear his Signet ring and the crest of his house, which will soon be mine, too.” A murmur went through the hall when more and more people recognized the ring and the fact that it wasn’t just a copy but the actual thing.

“I might not have the right to speak in this assembly by birth, but I have gained the right by marriage and will defend it to death should either of you challenge me.”

Now it was time for the most dramatic part of the whole performance. Hawke reached up and loosened the clip that held together the cloak. The heavy fabric rushed down her back, revealing her armour and a certain crossbow on her back. She reached behind and her fingers closed around Bianca – the move was unfamiliar, strange even since she’d seen Varric do this hundreds of times, but something about it felt right and when she stood there, one hand on her hip, the other gripping Bianca with her index finger curled around the trigger, silence fell over the hall. It seemed like no one even dared to breathe.

Following an impulse, she added with mischief in her voice: “Don’t forget that I _am_ the Champion of Kirkwall.”

The silence continued for a full minute, and then an almost deafening whisper started.

“.... unbelievable...”

“... must be a lie...”

“... but it is his ring...”

“... did you see the crossbow?”

“... always walk around together...”

“... always been too fascinated with humans...”

“... bet he fucks her-“

“... only trouble with that dwarf – reminds me of Bia-“

 _“That is enough.”_ The oldest dwarf had spoken, rendering his fellow merchants silent. He turned to Hawke, pure anger behind his eyes.

“This behaviour is unheard of and the truth behind your words needs to be investigated. The Guild’s meetings are postponed until your... fiancé is well enough to attend one himself.” For a second, it seemed like he tried to stare Hawke down, but when she didn’t even blink, he let his gaze roam over the others in the room and barked:” Dismissed!”

And they shuffled out, one by one, until only a handful of dwarves remained in the hall. Hawke paced past them slowly, Bianca still at the ready. One of them, a sort of mean-looking guy with a very thin black beard that went down to his knees in a braid stepped in her way, bowing ridiculously low.

“Lady Tethras.”

“Serah,” she acknowledged him.

“How is your fiancé?” His voice dripped in mock concern.

“Preoccupied with more important matters,” she replied and tried to side-step him, but he remained in her way.

“I do hope this liaison turns out better than the last time he had his eyes on someone.” All that he needed now was his companions to go ‘uuuh’. Hawke rolled her eyes in her mind.

“And I do hope you find new holes in your body an improvement to the way you currently look.” She lowered Bianca a couple of inches. “I thought I made myself clear about any threats or bad words against House Tethras.”

The dwarf hurried to bow his head, although he glared at her more openly than before. “Of course, milady.”

Not losing any more words, she went back outside, not bothered by any other dwarves. Her friends already waited for her, confused as to why the meeting had only lasted this short. Before Hawke could explain, though, someone cleared their throat behind her. She turned to face one of the two females she’d seen in the assembly.

“Messere,” she began, bowing her head slightly. “I just meant to tell you to mind your way. And also to look out for Varric. Your little stunt has saved him his seat in the assembly, but I fear it might have been at the cost of your life. Both your lives. “

Hawke narrowed her eyes at her, but the women seemed serious and without malicious intent, so she nodded in acknowledgement. “Thank you for your warning. Who are you, if I might ask?”

The dwarf simply shook her head. “My name is not important, you will learn it one day. I just want you to take care. The dwarfs are malicious if they want to, especially if their set ways and old, stuffy regulations have been challenged.” She curtsied. “Good day, Messere.”

Hawke followed her with her eyes, while Isabela stepped closer. “What was all that about? And why are you back already?”

Finally, Hawke turned her back on the dwarf disappearing into the darkness and shrugged, looking at her friends. “I think the Coterie might receive a couple of new assignments with my name on them soon. We should be careful.”

-

“You’re still alive,” Varric observed as Hawke stepped into the room, dropping the cloak over a chair and carefully setting Bianca down at the foot of the bed.

“You sound surprised.”

He cocked his head. “Not _surprised_. More like relieved.” He watched her shed the chest-piece of her armour, followed by the gloves and boots, until all that was left the thin undergarments that protected her skin from the sharp edges of the armour.

“You won’t be once you receive the hate mail.” She yawned and stretched and Varric suddenly found himself transfixed by a small strip of skin revealed when her shirt rode up. Instead of letting his mind fall into the gutter, he patted the bed and Hawke lumbered over, gratefully sinking down on the mattress.

It didn’t seem strange that she lay down instead of sitting there. She simply crawled up the bed until she could stretch out on her back next to Varric. “I understand why you hate going there,” she admitted, talking towards the ceiling. Then she turned to her side, propping up her head with one arm. “Some of them need to have their mouths washed with soap.”

Varric chuckled and resisted the urge to push her hair out of her eyes. It would have been too much. Their whole balance was off anyway, and he couldn’t just make it worse.

He’d been on the brink of death, cooped up for days and hadn’t spent the night with someone in quite some time.

Hawke was there, she was an opportunity and from the looks she threw him sometimes probably even a willing opportunity – but if it meant losing her friendship forever, it wasn’t worth it in the slightest. Not after what she’d done for him, today and any other day in their life together. He didn’t belong in the Hawke-story like that.

“Poor Champion. What horrible things did they tell you?”

She chuckled and nudged him carefully. “Nothing I haven’t heard from Isabela before.”

“So they think we’re fucking.”

“Of course they think that – we’re engaged after all,” she reminded him with a sleepy wink. A yawn interrupted whatever she planned on adding.

“You deserve to go to sleep, Hawke,” he told her gently. “I’m sure your report will lose nothing of its entertaining value in the morning.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not even that tired.” She blinked slowly and her head slid down from where she’d propped it up against her fist. “We really need to talk about the friends you have...”

“We will. And you can call them all kinds of names tomorrow if you like,” Varric promised, filled with awe at how suddenly Hawke had fallen asleep. She moved one last time, muttering something he couldn’t quite make out, and curled up a bit before her breathing evened out and she stayed silent.

Her head was now almost resting against his chest and Varric took a chance if he saw one. It was all just to keep her warm, and to allow him a mostly painless night of sleep, after all. Which was why he carefully pulled up the covers over both of them and nudged her until she snuggled into him some more, which took her further away from the corner of the bed and lowered the risk of her falling out in the night.

Her hair was soft against his skin, her breath warming his side. Varric admired her with all her heart in that moment, admired her for fighting his fight when he couldn’t, for standing up for him, for attracting the wrath of almost every important dwarf in the city. He admired her for her beauty, her wisdom – even for her pig-headedness and her irrationality when it came to those she cared for.

‘Lady Tethras’ had nothing on ‘Hawke’ name-wise but the implications of the title made Varric think that if he married one day, he could count himself lucky if his wife was anything like the young woman sleeping next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: Heroes - David Bowie
> 
> Watch those to idiots play married and be stupidly besotted and too stubborn to JUST KISS.  
> Please keep an eye on the tags, I'll be updating them for the next chapter(s)!
> 
> Thanks for reading and leaving kudos and comments!


	5. Heartache to Heartache We Stand

* * *

* * *

_(9:35 Dragon, the Champion party)_

The cool night air felt good on her skin, drying the thin layer of sweat on her chest and causing the hair on her arms to stand on end. She stood at the edge of the roof, at the small balustrade that wasn’t nearly high enough to hold her back should she fall, but looked decorative.

It was like everything in Hightown – beautiful, but completely useless. But despite all its flaws, this place was her birthright, had been her mother’s childhood home and was everything that was left of the Amell family.

Plus, the view was magnificent. Her eyes roamed over the city and she could not only see the flickering lights of candles in the Chantry’s high windows, but also the dimly lit Keep, the even darker Lowtown and the lights of the Harbour dancing on the water between the city and the Gallows.

“Beautiful,” she uttered dreamily and Varric next to her made an appreciative sound. She turned her head just in time to see him look straight ahead, but she was almost certain that he had faced her way before.

Varric was made for candlelight, for chairs in front of the fire, for ale at a table, cards in his hands, feet propped up, people around him listening to his stories. But in the night, he looked less like the story-teller and more like a stranger than Hawke had ever seen him.

It was different to the Lyrium-lightened darkness of the Deep Roads, different to patrolling through the city at night – it was an intimate darkness, soft summer air and moonlight.

In this darkness, she could almost imagine him calling her beautiful, not in joke, but full of sincerity, with meaning behind it. She could imagine him pulling her down into a kiss even.

“Hawke? Are you in there?”

She blinked and noticed him looking at her, head cocked to the side.

“Yes. I was just in thoughts.”

“Oh? I’m good at those,” he offered, curiosity as always getting the better of him.

Hawke tried to tackle this whole thing from a new perspective. “I’m just... worried about Anders. If you’re right, then I’d hate to hurt his feelings. He is very important to me, but I’m just not...” she searched for the right word for a moment, before she settled on: “I’m just not what he needs.”

Varric nodded slowly. “I know you’re not being coy, so I guess you actually believe what you’re saying. But have you tried thinking about what _you_ need?” He hurriedly added: “Not that caring about others is a bad trait – I’m glad at least one of us is not too self-centred to do it. But if you end up being unhappy to make someone else happy, it’s usually the first step into nug shit and you won’t come out of it unspoiled.”

Hawke shoved him gently, smiling. “When did you become a relationship expert?”

He gave his best to seem puffed up. “I happen to be an expert on lots of topics.”

“So you are,” she agreed. “Well, then, Mr. Expert – I know that I don’t need Anders in that way.”

He patted her arm. “Self-awareness. Good first step. So, what is it you need?” His eyes seemed to penetrate the darkness and she could almost see their golden shine then.

_You to stop being so distracting, all over my mind. I need you to be my best friend, and maybe I need to sleep with you because you’re distracting me with your chest and your charm and your whiskey eyes. I need this night to not end because you think I’m beautiful and I think we could be perfect together._

“Can I tell you a secret?” she whispered and he stepped closer, eyes wide and a smile on his lips.

And Hawke chickened out.

“I need to go back inside because I’m not wearing shoes and my feet are bloody cold.” She lifted the hem of her dress and showed him her bare feet. They had bought shoes to go with the dress, but they had started to hurt her feet long ago and she’d discreetly slipped out of them and hid them under a table.

They went back inside then, and although she had decided years ago, in the Deep Roads, that sleeping with Varric could be a good plan, they still hadn’t done it and from the looks of it wouldn’t get to it at any point in the future. But they were friends, best friends, and she was damn proud of that. It would have to be enough.

* * *

* * *

“Do you think it’s getting better?”

“Nah, still looks like a tattoo artist had a seizure on his chest while being extremely drunk.”

“ _I_ think it’s getting better – look, it’s not nearly as black as it was before. If it turns red, that might be a good sign!”

“Aveline would probably say something like ‘once it stops hurting, he’s fine’. It’s a shame she never has time to hang out – but hey, at least the three of us sound like a joke Anders might tell! ‘A pirate, the Champion of Kirkwall and a blood mage stare at dwarf-‘”

Varric huffed and pulled a sheet up to his chest, covering himself completely from the eyes of the three women sitting around his bed. “You know the dwarf can hear you and feels violated by your looks?”

Merrill smiled at him. “We just want you to get better soon!”

“And don’t pretend you wouldn’t stare at my chest if you wouldn’t get a crick in the neck doing it,” Isabela added with an impish grin.

“Because height jokes with dwarves never get old.”

The pirate grinned and Merrill followed her example, as per usual when she wasn’t quite sure about the situation. Taking Isabela as a role model was probably not the best idea, but the rogue, much like Varric, had developed a protective instinct for the not-so-helpless blood mage and lately spent a lot of time with her. Especially now that Varric was injured and Hawke spent most of her time watching over him.

“There are not many other jokes one can make about dwarves,” Isabela countered.

Varric shook his head. “Oh, there are so many things – we are stubborn, some of the new surfacers have a fear of tumbling into the sky, and I have to live in fake matrimony to keep a couple of merchants off my back.” He threw an apologetic glance at Hawke, who shrugged.

Isabela leant forward in her chair again, eyes twinkling. “It’s not all bad, though – I hear newly-wed sex is fantastic.”

Merrill’s cheeks coloured pink instantly (although she had harboured a slight crush on Isabela for a while and was not as innocent as she looked, how Hawke knew very well), while Hawke shook her head, laughing. “As always, you are very apt at ignoring the ‘fake’ part of our marriage. No newly-wed sex.”

“Maybe some of that would help Varric to get better, though,” the pirate suggested, wriggling her eyebrows, and Varric rolled his eyes.

“Why does every conversation with you end up with either of us having sex with either you or each other?”

“Because that’s what I’m good at. Well, that, and killing things. But I love you too much to do that.” She got up and planted a smacking kiss on Hawke’s lips before the rogue could struggle and avoid her, then leant over to Varric who simply wasn’t in the right constitution to avoid it, either.

“So much for not getting an infection,” he muttered while Isabela sauntered towards the door.

“I’ll be back sometime,” she called out.

“Is that a threat?” Hawke called after her while Merrill got up, too.

“I should leave, too. It’s getting dark and some of the dwarves glare at me when I walk past them in the night. I think they know we’re friends...”

“Watch your back, Daisy,” Varric advised her while Hawke offered to walk her home, which the Dalish declined.

When she had left, too, Hawke and Varric were alone again, as it was the case every evening since the attack, and it was usually the time they enjoyed most. The _something_ that was off made the air crackle between them. Touches were more careful, words gentler. A bit of their wit was gone; instead they brushed over serious subjects, stumbled their way through the words. Right now, though, Hawke was in business mode.

“Alright. Time to strip.”

Varric raised his eyebrows, grinning. “Just when I gave up all hopes on newly-wed sex.”

Hawke rolled her eyes, but smiled, too. “No, it’s time for the six-hour-ly ‘poke and pain’.”

Varric shrugged while he carefully slipped off the tunic he had been allowed to wear by Blondie the day before. “Still sounds like something Rivaini would practice.”

Hawke looked over his back first, a measuring look on her face. “The bruises are getting better, but the skin around the spike hole is a bit red.” She carefully touched it with two fingers, trying to ignore the way Varric immediately tensed up. “It feels hot. Anders should have a look at it.”

“I don’t feel different. We don’t need to send for him, I think. He can do it when he stops by tomorrow morning,” Varric decided.

“If you’re sure...” she trailed off and then wet a cloth to carefully dab at her friend’s back. Merrill had been right in so far that the black veins slowly started to lighten, turning into a bright red coming from the hole in the back. Only the tails of the network on the dwarf’s neck were still mostly black. It seemed like he stood a good chance of getting rid of them completely after a while.

“You’ll be irresistible again,” she told him when she was finished with his back, tracing the lines she could reach absentmindedly.

The vibrations of him chuckling went through his body and the corners of her mouth went upwards.

“Good, I’d hate to look like this in the glorious paintings people will create of us when they hear the story of the legendary Champion of Kirkwall and her companions,” he told her while she put away the water and he slipped his tunic back on.

“Oh, so you _do_ appear in your own story?” Hawke sat down on the bed again, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping their arms around them. “I always lived under the impression you didn’t like to tell stories about yourself.”

“It’s a story about you, the lives you saved and the lives you touched. It would be very unreliable to omit myself – how would I have heard about everything?”

She cocked her head. “I could have told you about it.”

He grinned. “No offense, but the way you tell about things goes like this: ‘There was an ogre. I killed it. We went home.’ You lack a certain finesse, Hawke.”

“I do not!” She laughed.

“Oh, yes. You have many talents, but story-telling is not one of them.”

“It’s good that I have you with me then – I slay the ogres while you try and talk them to sleep.”

“Unfortunately, I’m also capable of killing ogres, in addition to telling stories. Remember, I am a dwarf of many talents.”

“Mmh...” Hawke pondered something for a moment, watched by Varric amusedly, before she offered him a deal. “If I get you a treat, will you tell me a story?”

Of course they both knew that Varric would readily tell her ten stories if she asked for them, but she also knew that he was curious as to what the treat was. Grinning, she disappeared downstairs and came back again shortly later with a carafe.

“Is that-?” Varric’s eyes brightened.

“Wine. The nice kind.” She put it on the night stand and stood next to it, one hand on her hip. “You’re allowed one mug. Healer’s orders.”

_

He could just do it. The tension was almost tangible, the setting perfect. Soft candle-light, wine, a bedroom.

If he reached out now, he could pull her in by her hips, the height difference almost non-existent if he knelt on the bed. Hawke was so close and he could just do it.

But it would be ridiculous, afterwards. Not the night spent together – not that. But the next day, and every other day to come. Sex did something to people, even if they claimed nothing would change. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to carry on as before, not with the feelings he had developed. Not with the jealously that had flared up when he had remembered their conversation about Blondie. The way Hawke had tried to be gentle, to not hurt the mage’s feelings – she was so much more than just a fighter, just the Champion of Kirkwall.

She was a lady, by blood and birthright, and she deserved someone who could be with her all the way – and Varric wasn’t sure if he could be that someone. Chances were he couldn’t.

It wasn’t like he had been particularly lucky with falling in love before. In fact, the last time he had been serious about something, he had almost started a clan war. Varric didn’t even dare to imagine what would happen if he and Hawke... in case she even felt the same, of course. He didn’t even _know_ that.

He was not as naive as to confuse desire and attraction with deeper, more meaningful feelings.

Varric didn’t pull her in, didn’t kiss her. Instead he smiled thankfully, and agreed to both the story and the vine enthusiastically. A short time later, Hawke sat next to him, propped up against the headboard, her head on his right shoulder and listening intently to the story he told her.

X

The next evening, Varric seemed finally getting to the bad tempered part of his injuries due to not being able to walk more than a couple of steps and being restrained to Hawke’s bedroom, which was why Anders offered Hawke to give him something to fall asleep while she took the evening off.

“Don’t do that, Anders,” she stopped him, but reciprocated his smile. “It’s not his fault. I’d hate to be in his situation, too. And the Guild is getting to him, too, I think.”

“Just for the record, Isabela thought it was a great plan.” The healer carefully stretched his arms and Hawke noticed the bags under his eyes. With Varric bedridden, the Coterie and anyone else who found interest in the former warden suddenly poked out their noses from hiding again and he’d been in trouble twice this week, no matter how hard Varric tried to organise business (and therefore keep an eye on Merrill, Anders and Fenris – which he never admitted), it was harder with him not showing his face in public for the last week or so.

“You look like you could use a night off, too,” Hawke carefully noted and he shook his head, although he didn’t exactly protest.

“Maybe we could all use that.”

Hawke came to a decision. “How about we all meet up at the Hanged Man later. Aveline is on duty tonight, which means none of us has to patrol and Varric can be grumpy for a while without one of us always around.”

Anders accepted, trying not show how much he appreciated the plan, and after Hawke had bid her good-bye to Varric – not without dropping a pouch of biscuits on the bed which he pretended not to be interested in but already reached for when she closed the door behind her.

Soon after, the group – minus one story-telling dwarf and one captain of the guard– occupied their usual table at the Hanged Man and were well into the third round of ale, finally loosing some of the stress of the last week. At first, a couple of the usual patrons had come up to their table and asked for Varric, but after Isabela had been very clear about them not wanting to be disturbed anymore (“Varric is not too small to be overlooked, now, is he – which means he’s not here and you can sod off”) and the few new guests who hadn’t witnessed her outburst were kept at bay by Fenris glaring around the room once in a while.

“I rescued a kitten today!” Merrill told them proudly, the alcohol loosening her up. “It had fallen into the harbour and I went to fish it out.”

“She left out the part where I fished _her_ out with the kitten in her arms,” Isabela contributed to the story, sending the rest of the table into laughter. Even Fenris grinned. Only Merrill was pouting.

“Oh, don’t take it to your heart, Merrill. I’m just kidding,” the pirate tried to placate her and lifted her mug to clink it to Merrill’s. The Dalish seemed to debate with herself for a moment before lifting hers, too, and clinked with Isabela.

“Someone who needs to hold her mug with two hands probably shouldn’t even be allowed to drink,” Fenris observed while Merrill carefully sat her mug down again. It was true that the Dalish didn’t need much to get tipsy, what with her being a complete light-weight, but Hawke had always supposed she was off age by Dalish standards. It did look adorable, though, the way she clasped her drink with both hands, almost cradling it to her chest.

“Just for you information, that mug weighs more than your... your... stupid toothpick.” Merrill tried to look intimidating, but the blush on her cheeks was too much and the whole group broke into giggle fits again, while Fenris seemed truly amused.

“You can’t be referring to my sword?”

“Well I’m not- I’m not talking about your manhood!” she spat and then shut her mouth, horrified at what she’d just said. For a second, the table went completely silent and then erupted in so much laughter that Anders almost toppled off the bench when he was gasping for air.

Merrill made a face, desperately trying to remain indignant and ashamed, but the corners of her mouth kept twitching and she finally started giggling, too.

“That’s it – you are spending too much time with Isabela,” Hawke declared when they had all calmed down enough to breathe properly again. Merrill was by now realizing what kind of horrifying thing she’d said and stammered around for a bit before she sighed unhappily and stood up.

“I’m very sorry, Fenris. I should not have said that. Please accept my sincere apology.”

Fenris’ eyes were still twinkling with amusement, but he nodded. “It’s fine.”

It was moments like this when Fenris could forget about his deep and justified hatred for mages, when Anders wasn’t careful with every word he said and didn’t go on too much about mage rights – moments like this were when the world seemed at piece, the group of friends coming together to have a good time. Hawke smiled to herself and enjoyed those moments, knowing well how fast they passed.

Merrill seemed visibly relieved before she turned to the others. “I think I should go. This is... not how I usually act. I’m sorry.”

Hawke gave her a sympathetic smile, but they all let her go – mortification still got to her even after years spent with this circle of friends and it was better to let her get over it by herself. Hawke planned on checking in on her in the morning.

“Oh, that was interesting, wasn’t it?” Isabela smirked. “I’d like to find out what happens if someone else has had too much to drink.”

“We are too mature for drinking games,” Fenris reminded her with extra severity in his voice and Hawke strongly suspected he was doing it deliberately.

“Maybe you are, but I’m not,” Isabela argued. “Hawke, you in?”

Their leader raised on eyebrow. “Who’s paying?”

“You are, of course. You’re the one with the mansion and the title.”

“This will end badly,” Anders prophesised. “I’m actually glad for once that Justice won’t allow me to get drunk. I’ll call it a night. Don’t come to me when you’re dying.”

“We won’t,” Fenris promised with too much seriousness in his voice to take it lightly and Hawke sent him a warning look. He stared back at her without blinking, but finally nodded shortly, accepting her silent request of keeping it to himself.

Isabela muttered: “Spoilsport,” loud enough for him to hear, but it was said in a much more teasing tone than Fenris’ words before.

Although only the three of them were left now, Hawke thought somewhere between the fifth and sixth shot that Anders had probably been right about one thing – this might just end badly.

-

Varric was still awake when Hawke poked her head through the door, although the room was dark, candles long gone out. From the way he’d heard her desperately trying to be quiet when she’d climbed the stairs, it was obvious that she was at least tipsy and surprisingly his amusement outweighed the regret of not having been able to go out with the others.

“Hawke, come on in and try not to be quiet anymore. I think they heard you coming up this stairs even in the Chantry.”

She slipped through the door, and slowly made her way across the room in the careful, measured steps of someone drunk trying not to break their neck. “I’m sorry if I woke you,” she told him, her words slurring slightly.

He chuckled so it became absolutely clear that he didn’t mind and said: “I wasn’t asleep yet.” He tried to see something in the darkness. “Good night out?”

“Merrill insulted Fenris’ manhood and then we had a competition. About drinking. I think he won.”

“I’m sure that makes perfect sense in your brain, Hawke. Though I must admit, I’m curious to hear that story tomorrow.”

She made an acknowledging sound and then the sound of fabric falling to the ground reached Varric. What was she doing? Was she getting something to sleep in? Did she plan to leave and sleep somewhere else?

They had spent the last nights in the same bed, neither of them commenting on it in the mornings. Varric would tell his Hawke stories in the evenings until she drifted off and he would go to sleep soon after, holding her close through the night.

Hawke had never changed out of the clothes she wore around the house, though, mostly because she simply fell asleep at one point. Now she was wrestling with clothing and Varric only realized what she was actually doing when the bed suddenly dipped and a very warm, very naked arm came in contact with his shoulder.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to hurt you,” Hawke muttered and he moved back towards the headboard in a dream-like state. She hadn’t... had she? Just what exactly was going on?

“It’s fine,” he managed to reassure her, voice raspy. The blood was rushing through his body at the thought of a possibly naked Hawke in his bed and despite his conviction that them together might be too much for their friendship, he was just a man with a very beautiful, possibly naked woman inches away on the bed. A very beautiful, drunk woman.

“Varric?” Hawke’s voice was silken, but also laced with worry at his tone. He felt a hand carefully reaching around in the darkness, grazing his knee.

“Maybe you should go to sleep, Hawke,” he tried, aiming for casual and failing spectacularly. “Seems to have been quite the night.”

There was a single strip of moonlight coming in through the windows and making its way between the curtains and suddenly Hawke leant forward, her skin porcelain in the cold light, her eyes hooded, but piercing blue.

If he had ever thought she’d looked dangerous, it was nothing on this look. She was kneeling on the bed, on hand on the mattress for support and the other – wandering over his chest, still mindful of the veins and dancing around them easily, even in the darkness.

Varric swallowed a groan, but couldn’t help his eyelids fluttering closed.

“Do you want to know what I’ve been thinking about for years now?” she whispered and leant forward, hot breath dancing over the skin below his hear. He could feel her body heat radiating off her, almost burning him, while the hand dancing across his skin before was now flat against the right side of his chest.

He could just image what she was going to say now and it did not help his good intentions. “Hawke-” he started, but she ignored it.

“I thought about sleeping with you. All those years.” Her breathing had quickened, still hot against his skin, but somehow she seemed reluctant now. When she spoke again, her voice had lost some of the silken undertone and was harder. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Varric let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. So she understood why they couldn’t do it. She understood it; she wouldn’t do this, not even now.

“You’re not going to lose me, Hawke,” he told her quietly and when the closed his hand over hers on his chest, she allowed him to gently lift it. “Go to sleep. I’ll be there in the morning, and as long as you want me around.”

“You’re hurt, you couldn’t leave this room even if you wanted to,” she muttered, allowing him to guide her down on the bed until she was curled up under the sheets with him. Thankfully, she was still wearing underwear, which made it at least a little easier for him.

“That, too,” he admitted, a smile in his voice.

“I’m sorry, Varric,” she mumbled into a pillow and he could hear in her voice that the sleepiness was kicking in. “I just thought this was a good idea, but it wasn’t.”

_No, it wasn’t._

But somehow Varric couldn’t bring himself to actually believe that it would have been a bad idea. Glancing at the dark silhouette next to him, the silhouette that was so close and at the same time further out of reach than she’d ever been, he allowed himself one small move.

He pushed the hair out of her face carefully, lingering only for a second. “It’s all right. Forget about it.”

She blinked slowly, once, twice, before her eyes stayed close and she had fallen asleep.

Varric spent the night wrestling down the heat still pooling between his legs and cursing himself over and over for being a decent man. He’d done the right thing, and she had even stopped herself... but at what cost?

-

When he woke up, the bed next to him was empty and cold although it couldn’t have been past six in the morning. The events of the night instantly flashed before his eyes again, too hard to even forget for a minute. Hawke must’ve remembered, too.

Fleeing didn’t seem much like her but when he heard a door click further down the hall, he realized that she had just gone to the bathroom. Either to throw up, or to get dressed, he supposed.

Seconds later, the door handle moved quietly and she shuffled back in, dressed in a deep red tunic and shirt, carrying a tray with breakfast. Vanilla scent wafted through the room.

“Good morning,” he greeted her carefully and she only hesitated for a second before she kept on walking. She placed the tray on the night stand and sat down in the chair next to the bed, pulling up one leg under herself. “Good morning. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, rose and shone all by myself,” he assured her, eyeing the tray that was positively loaded with all kinds of delicious food. It was clear how well she remembered the night. Everything from eggs to different kinds of fresh fruit was on there, most of it off season and therefore almost impossible to get your hands on. A desperate attempt of clearing a debt that didn’t even exist in his eyes.

He felt like he needed to remind her that he wasn’t the Arishok that needed to be appeased. “Hey, you don’t have to-“

She looked up suddenly, her eyebrows furrowed as if she needed to concentrate very hard. “I do have to. I’m sorry, Varric. I shouldn’t have... done that.”

He caught her eyes, trying to convince her of the truthfulness of his words. “You didn’t do anything. And even if you had tried, I’d have stopped you.”

“You... would have?” She seemed surprised, which should have hurt his feelings, but seeing as how little he trusted himself around her, he could let it slip more easily.

“I told you. Gentleman.” He sighed. “As nice as this could have been, you weren’t really in the right state.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, Hawke – we both know that we want this. You told me you’ve wanted it for years and I, well, I can’t say that I haven’t thought about it. But even when you were drunk, you realized that was a bad idea.” He hated himself in that moment, hated that this was the time for honesty which would lead to nothing but more tension.

She stared at him intently. “So you think that too? You think us sleeping with each other would be a bad idea?”

“It leads you to thinking we can’t be friends anymore – and I would rather us stay friends than have one night of admittedly awesome sex-“ That actually put a smile on her face, even if it was just for a second, “-and then everything is different. Things change when you fuck. And it might be my dwarf-genes speaking, but change is not always good.”

“I didn’t know you thought like that. All this time... it’s hard to believe.” Her surprise was genuine, although it had nothing to do with being coy. She was genuinely surprised at his admission of wanting her, too.

 _Ancestors, why did this have to be so hard?_ “I’m not blind, Hawke. And not even I could make you into that desirable idol half of Kirkwall wants to be and half of Kirkwall wants to fuck or kill if you didn’t have it in you.” He tried to convey just how serious he was – he needed her to know that this was not one-sided.

If she thought that, she might distance herself out of shame, or just to spare him humiliation or whatever noble and totally messed up thought she might get in that head of hers. And that was what he wanted to prevent. It was both of them, both of them feeling the attraction, both of them trying not to mess up what they had.

“I lie. You know it, I admit it. But I don’t lie to you about important things. You have earned my trust and respect long ago.”

Hawke was silent for a long time. When she finally spoke, it sounded like the thoughts only assumed shape as they fell off her tongue. “I don’t know if I could ever be with someone. A lot of people expect me to marry a Hightowner, or at the very least some famous warrior, and then I’m supposed to settle down. I don’t know if I can do that. Not with what the Qunari left in their wake.”

She locked eyes with him again, the blue of hers flaring up as if there was a fire burning behind them. “The only person who never expected anything from me was you. I think that drew me- still draws me to you.”

Varric couldn’t help himself, he had to laugh. “Just a few days ago you risked your life to sit on a chair in a room full of angry old dwarves to save my reputation and skin. You almost died because of my brother’s greed and you risked your life when we went into his mansion where we saved his sorry ass.” He shook his head. “You have done more for me than I can ever make up for.”

She gave him a small smile. “But you never expected me to do it. You curse, and you call me pig-headed. And then you make me into a hero. Without even claiming an important role in the story.”

“I told you, I’m not part of your story that way.”

“You could be.”

And suddenly they were not talking about a one-time shag anymore; had waded into deeper water and had lost the ground beneath their feet without a warning.

“No, I really can’t.“ He glanced at Bianca leaning against the night stand. “When you and I are around people we care for, they tend to end up corrupted or death. I don’t want to be responsible for the death of my lover in addition to the death of my best friend.” It sounded selfish, and maybe it was, but... he remembered the Arishok. Remembered how he had never been this afraid in his life.

Every hit Hawke hadn’t been able to evade hurt his heart and every time she had broken down, he felt like screaming. When she got impaled, lifted off the ground sliding down the blade more and more, he had been sure she was done in for. But when the Arishok shook her off, she staggered to her feet again, a big _hole_ in her body, bleeding furiously - and had kept on fighting. Varric had wanted to be with her so badly it physically hurt him and when she had finally managed to drive her daggers into the Qunari’s heart, the room had started spinning for a moment while he remembered how to breathe properly and only didn’t break down in a bloody pulp because they all had rushed to her side, keeping her upright.

She cocked her head. “It sounds like you know something I don’t.”

“I don’t. But one day, there is going to be a sword I didn’t block, an arrow I didn’t see coming and you’ll fall.” Oh Maker, this had certainly taken a turn for the worst. Hawke looked pale and although they had agreed that they could never be with each other that way minutes ago, he wanted nothing more than to pull her up on the bed and keep with him forever.

However, if they didn’t talk it out now, they’d never speak about this again. Something crossed his mind, and he quoted himself. “Remember, it’s not a good story unless the hero dies.”

She huffed humourlessly. “Sword or arrow? Try a collapsing building and poison.”

Oh. So she had her own Arishok-moment. Except Varric wasn’t the hero, of course. He swallowed drily, willing down all the words he wanted to say and shouldn’t. Hawke found some of them, spoke them for him and herself at the same time. “I don’t know what I would have done if you’d died.”

“And we are just friends. Imagine we had been lovers.”

He caught her eyes with his, trying to let them speak for himself. There was only silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: Love Is A Battlefield - Pat Benatar
> 
> I'm sorry *gross sobbing* Also, am I the only one who gets a stomach ache everytime I fight the Arishok and get accidentally impaled?  
> Thank you, as always, for reading!


	6. What’s The Point Of Dreaming (When Your Life Is Great)

Hawke had fled to the balcony on the roof when the sun had started to set and the blood red sky reminded her of the blood that had splattered a mere hours ago, when she’d been out at the Bone Pit, getting rid of a ‘little’ spider problem for Hubert. She’d taken Merrill with her, who seemed like she had been about to say something about Hawke’s monosyllabic answers for the entire foray but had kept it to herself in the end, instead trying to light the mood.

She’d been partly successful in that Hawke had gone from feeling queasy and like she’d fucked up really badly to... feeling a sort of steady dread and like she’d fucked up only _pretty_ badly.

Plus, upon her arrival back at the estate, she’d been told that Anders was currently tending to Varric, but no one could tell her any details and so she’d fled to the roof, trying to find a way of ever looking at him again as if nothing had changed between them – which was what they’d agreed on and both realized that it wouldn’t work that way.

Lost in her musings, she barely registered the hatch opening and closing again; she only looked up when a familiar figure’s shadow fell over the balustrade next to her.

„I’ve just been in your room - Varric’s got a fever,“ Isabela told her while she sat down next to her, letting her feet dangle over the edge of the roof, each leg stuck in one gap between the bars.

“I told him it looked infected,” Hawke murmured, still staring off into the distance.

At the lack of interest and emotion, the pirate cocked her head. “Are you alright?”

“I’m not the one with an infection,” she deadpanned, not meeting her friend’s eyes.

Isabela raised her hands. “You’re just touchy and look like hell. I get it. Could be anything.” She paused. “Is that blood behind your ear?”

Hawke absentmindedly rubbed it away, thinking that she must’ve missed it when she got cleaned up. “It’s spider.”

“Ew.”

When Hawke didn’t contradict her on the other statements or even spoke up in any other way, her eyes narrowed down and she leant forward. “Hawke, you’re not okay and you should probably tell me what it is so I can try to help. I’d... _like_ to help you.” She clicked her tongue. “Well, no, I don’t like to, but I think I have to and you would do the same for me.”

“I’m just... thinking.” Hawke sighed and then turned to look at Isabela. “Do you remember the night you and Aveline showed up at my house? Before the Qunari went wild?”

Isabela nodded, focused on her with an intensity that made people swoon in a different context. Hawke was surprised to find that the pirate really seemed to care – of course she could register as a good person, somehow, and Hawke had never had reason to doubt her loyalty but still... seeing the usually careless rogue like this was strange.

“You knew where the relic and was and Aveline went on about the Qunari being the bigger problem and how I was supposed to take care of that first. Your problem seemed so small and... unimportant; one life – even if it was yours – against the lives of hundreds of people in the city under imminent threat.”

“And yet you saved my sorry ass.”

Hawke involuntarily smiled a bit. “At least it’s a good-looking one.”

Isabela laughed and nudged her. “True – but I have the feeling that’s not the point of that little reminder of the past.”

“It’s just that...” Hawke trailed off before starting again, trying to find the right words. “The mages are starting to fight the constraints the Templars put on them, and the Chantry and the Templars are getting too brutal. Then there’s this power vacuum that’s still not solved although the viscount’s been dead for over a year now. There are so many problems in this city, so many things I should look into, what with being the Champion and all, but they all seem unimportant now that-“

“Now that Varric’s hurt.”

“Is it wrong that I care more about him than about all the mages and templars in this city?”

“Don’t let Anders hear that,” Isabela joked, but quickly turned more serious again, touching Hawke’s shoulder carefully. “Look, your heart has always been bigger than your brain, and _that_ ’s already way too big – shush, I’m talking,” she admonished when Hawke tried to protest. “It’s true and you know it. After I ran away with the relic, you could have forgotten about me or, in the worst case, sent people after me. But you didn’t and you must have even gone as far as to sprinkle some of that sense of honour of yours on me because I came back. And did you try to kill me or even yell at me? No. You take people to your heart, and you never let them go.”

Hawke made a face. “So what you’re saying is that I’m too emotionally attached to all of you?”

“No, Stupid. What I’m saying is that you always want to find the solution that appeases everyone and when you have to make someone wait because something else is more important, you freak.”

“You mean Varric is more important than the whole of Kirkwall breaking out into a mage-templar war any minute?”

“He is to you.”

Hawke grew frustrated – Isabela didn’t actually help at all, even if she had to admit that the pirate obviously tried her best at this whole emotional exchange thing. Still, this was all leading to nothing. “What are you trying to say?!”

Isabela backed away as if she had burned herself. “Nothing! Maker, you really got up on the wrong foot today, didn’t you?”

The whole world went silent to Hawke and the only sound she could hear was her own heart beat, drumming loudly against her ribs. “What did he tell you?” She felt cold, suddenly, and realized her face must have lost most of its colour.

Isabela cocked her head, her eyebrows narrowing in worry and lack of understanding. “What do you mean, what did he-“ and then realization hit her and a grin blossomed on her face, getting wider and wider by the second. “Ooooooh. Hawke! Good on you! Really, it was about time the two of you did it!” She was all excitement and lewd faces, inching back in until she was almost thigh to thigh with Hawke.

Hawke let out the air she’d been holding in, feeling something in her stomach drop. Varric and Isabela hadn’t talked about what had happened that night. She didn’t know – in fact, she assumed something completely different. All Hawke needed to do was make a joke now and forget about it.

“We didn’t do it.” _Shit._ This was like a hex! Nothing came out right anymore and the world was in shambles. (Which wasn’t even overdramatic, considering the impeding war and her apparent inability to not say the wrong things over the course of the last couple of days?)

Isabela lost or good mood within a second. “What?”

Hawke sighed. It was too late now anyway. “We didn’t shag and we’re not going to. We talked about it and it’s not something either of us wants,” she explained.

“Not- _not_ something either of you _wants_?” Isabela actually gaped at her. “You gotta be fucking kidding me! The others and me literally have bets going on about when we’re going to walk in on the two of you making sweet, heroic love all over that table in his suite!” She threw her hands in the air exasperatedly. “I’m losing money with every second you’re not rolling around with him in the sheets – it’s so freaking _obvious_ you two need to bone each other that not even the sisters of the Chantry can look at you without sinning physically.”

Hawke almost tackled her to the ground, glaring at her ferociously. “Stop yelling, Isabela! They can hear you down at the Gallows!”

Isabela was completely unfazed and glared right back. “They bloody well should, because that way, even that feverish idiot in your room might hear me and realize _how much money you two not getting it has already cost me_!” She yelled that last part and Hawke simply gave up on trying to get her to shut up.

She focused on something else instead, something that she hadn’t even realized. “Is it... that obvious?”

“Hawke, he’s so smitten with you not even he could put it into words. Take all the romantic tales he’s ever told, add more lust than is wafting through the air at the Rose and then let a witch hex you badly and you wouldn’t even get half of it. And you’re not better!” She poked a finger into Hawke’s chest painfully. “Have you ever seen the two of you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You always dance around him in a fight – you protect all of us, but you’re never once far away from him. I’ve seen you throw knives at assassins seconds before they even know _themselves_ that they want to get _him_. You always look for him in a room first. Andraste, you growled at every single of the dwarven maids at that tavern we visited once, just because they were getting a bit too handsy with him. You growl and _me_ when I get too handsy with him.”

Hawke remembered that night. “I didn’t growl.” She hesitated. “Did I?”

“Like a fucking dragon.”

Great. This was... great. Just when they’d talked it out, just when she thought about moving on, Isabela had to tell her this. “So what am I supposed to do now?”

The pirate raised an eyebrow, folding her arms over her chest.“Do you really need me to spell it out? Claim him. Scratch that itch. Make him yours.”

“I can’t. We talked about it. I’m not just going to... _molest_ him.” _Like I have done last night._ “He doesn’t want to because it would ruin everything. He said so. _I_ think so.”

Isabela smirked, leaning back on her arms and holding her face into the setting sun. “We’ve established already that you’re stupid. And do you know what Varric does every day?” She blinked her eyes open, fixing Hawke with a dangerous grin. _“He lies.”_

* * *

* * *

_(9:35 Dragon, two months after the party)_

He was posing for a new picture to put on the back of his latest novel. For some reason, they sold twice as well when he was in ridiculous poses, surrounded by girls in various states of promiscuity – and who was he to deny the masses something they apparently yearned for?

The young elf responsible for the cover art had ordered him to lounge in a big chair with a high backrest decked out in deep red velvet and a whole flock of ascendant girls willing to earn coins all over the place. They were draped around him, some practically pouring herself over him and one almost shoved her breasts under his nose, running her fingers over his chest and brushing him ever so slightly whenever the girls were asked to move around.

It wasn’t much of a surprise when they hooked up soon after the others had left. She had taken her time gathering her things and when he’d tried talking to her, it became clear quickly that she wasn’t much into small talk. Or flirting. It was more mouth-on-mouth action, really.

It wasn’t bad, far from it, and Varric realized it had been quite some time since he’d been with someone. She felt nice, all warm skin and curves to run your fingers over, but he wasn’t sorry when she left soon after without much more than a ‘goodbye’ and a couple of coins more than would have been her cover art salary tingling in her purse.

The one thing she had asked him, though, after their breathing had normalised, sweat drying on their skin, the rush of an orgasm not quite fading yet, had thrown him a bit. She hadn’t even asked in a resentful way or angry – she’d been plain curious. “Who’s ‘Hawke’?”

He hadn’t answered her, because he hadn’t been sure what to tell her. A friend? A companion? Someone I follow around like a lost puppy? His-

A knock interrupted his musings. “Varric?”

He quickly slipped his tunic back on and made sure he didn’t look like he had just shagged someone before he asked her to come in. “Did you know there are quite a lot of dwarven ladies downstairs?” She seemed amused and sat down opposite him.

‘Ladies’ was a bold choice of word, not necessarily one they deserved, but Varric chose not to comment on that. “Maybe they’re as much a fan of the Merchant Guild run taverns of the Hightown as I am. Or they’re here for the magnificent ale.”

“Funny how I always thought ‘magnificent’ meant ‘great’,” Hawke mused and let the topic drop. Varric noticed that from the way she was sitting, his bed with the rumpled sheets were in her back, out of side. He wasn’t ashamed of having had someone here, and he definitely was confident in his own skin, but he simply didn’t want Hawke to see him _that_ way.

He knew how he appeared, Maker, he even fuelled the gossip with smooth charm and fiery looks when they were needed. But it was one thing to be said to be a promiscuous, sensual lover and another thing to openly act like one. It was what distinguished him from Isabela who, like him, was aware of the looks – but acted on them.

_‘Who’s Hawke?’, the girl had asked._

Hawke’s the one sitting right here, he thought. The woman who can kill you within a second, so quick you won’t even notice you’re dead until your ashes are scattered into the sea. The woman fighting dragons and darkspawn, the woman laughing about my jokes, listening to my stories.

The woman I’d rather have felt beneath me, the one I want to see laying in my sheets, the one I want to cover with my body.

* * *

* * *

“I’m a fool,” Varric stated after the sudden flash of memory had passed, not realizing he’d said it out loud until Anders gave him a weird look.

“A fool with an infection.”

“Blondie, you never fail to add positive things to my life, don’t you?”

“I don’t always agree with you but seeing as the only thing _you_ add to your life is infections, I’ll accept that compliment.”

“I wish Rivaini was still here – she’d have a pun somewhere in that, I’m sure.”

“Well someone had to look after Hawke, she seems... weird. Do you know if something’s going on?”

“Nothing you want to hear about, Blondie.”

“But Isabela will want to?” He narrowed his eyes. “If it’s a woman thing, I can assure you that I know where the babies come from and what changes in little boys and girls when they grow up. To be honest, if Hawke is troubled by that, I don’t think Isabela is going to be any help – it’s not like she seems to grasp the idea of where babies come from and what you definitely shouldn’t put down there.”

“You actually think Hawke would discuss something like that with me and then proceed to ‘act weird’? What do you think we’re doing all day? Braiding each other’s hair and talking about boys?”

“To be fair, your hair _does have_ tiny braids in it.”

“That was Daisy.”

“And I am pretty sure Hawke talks to you about all kinds of topics, including ‘boys’.” The healer paused for a seconds, then gave Varric an exasperated look. “I know you know about me and her. I mean, what I wanted and what she said. I’m not an idiot you know?”

Varric treaded carefully. This had the potential to be very thin ice indeed. “Never said you were.”

“I might have asked her out after that party, the Champion-celebration. We danced and I might have asked her, even if I wasn’t sure she’d even thought about it- us, before. But you had, hadn’t you? And she went and talked to you, the two of you disappeared and she came back... knowing.”

Varric honestly didn’t know in what mindset Anders was. His face was deliberately bare of any emotion.

“I didn’t tell her to not be with you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Anders shook his head. “I wasn’t thinking that. Believe me, if I had you’d all not be alive anymore.” They both didn’t need to hear his name to understand he was referring to Justice.

“So why are you sounding resentful?”

“Are you serious?”

“Excuse me?”

Anders laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “I never stood a chance, I realize that now. Not while she was so busy with you.”

Varric had a feeling he know where this was leading, but he nevertheless tried to somehow get around it. “I am one hundred percent sure that we’ve not been _busy_.”

Anders seemed almost triumphant for a second and muttered something like ‘So Isabela owes me 50 Silver’, but the look turned back into a blank face with hard lines around his mouth almost instantly. “Believe me, we all know you’ve not been _busy_.”

“You’re almost better at riddles than I am, Blondie,” Varric muttered drily.

“You’ve been tip-toeing around each other for centuries now. The tension between you two is getting to Isabela like a cat when she smells other cats in heat. Hawke might have laughed at Aveline when she was, uh, ‘courting’ Donnic, but the two of you? _Not a bit better_.”

Varric almost ground his teeth – he knew this, Ancestors, he experienced that almost every single day.“Get to the point.”

“The point is that it’s always been you two, and that for some reason, Hawke is sulking on the roof while you’re down here with a fever.” His tone suddenly became harsher and Varric realized he was being protective of Hawke. “So what did you do?”

“What did _I_ do? Or what did _we_ do?” Varric tried to look innocent, which went wrong mostly due to the fact that this was one of the few looks he simply couldn’t pull off. “Because neither of us has done anything.” Which was, technically, the truth. A form of it, at least.

“Seems you’re both very good at that, doing nothing.” The mage raised an eyebrow. “But one day, there’ll be someone who might not be as decent as-“ me, Anders implied, but said: “we all are and maybe Hawke’ll be tired of waiting.”

The thought was enough to make Varric try and pretend he didn’t hurt when the pictures of Hawke with some kind of heroic stranger came to his mind. “Look, not that that’s any of your business, but we talked about this, alright? We’re friends, it’s what we both want.” _Or rather what we have to want in order to not ruin our friendship._

Anders huffed. “I knew you were good at lying to others, but I didn’t know you were also good at lying to yourself.”

“Someone has to – I’d be the only one I’d actually believe.”

“I think you also believed Hawke when she said you were friends.”

He had to, hadn’t he? If that was what would save the two of them, he’d have to believe it with his whole heart. If Hawke was so afraid of messing things up between them that she couldn’t bring herself to sleep with him even when she was drunk, he could never allow her to do this in a sober state. Her worries had been enough to trigger his own.

But still, the fact remained that this had long passed physical attraction. It might have been about that years ago, but-

Blondie was right, Varric realized. At some point he had fallen in love, without even realizing and much less without admitting it and Hawke, impossible as it seemed, had done the same. They’d been blind, yet only seeing each other – so scared of the thought that it seemed easier to just wish it away.

Except things changed when one almost died and now-

“You’re seeing it now, don’t you?” Anders made a face. “I’m very good at this sort of thing – maybe I should add counselling to my office hours twice a week. I can start counselling myself – ‘My name is Anders and I have a split personality and give other guys relationship advice about the girl I like’.”

Varric actually laughed at that. Then the thought occurred to him that he had basically just had an epiphany about his healer’s crush. His ‘demon-lives-inside-of-me-and-I-can’t-always-tame-him’- healer. Whose girl Varric liked. He sent him a careful glance. “Are you going to kill me now?”

Anders didn’t seem happy – which was understandable. But after a minute or so of glaring, he rolled his eyes and squeezed Varric’s shoulder shortly, nodding at him once in the manly way of conveying ‘I’m-still-pissed-but-not-really-at-you-and-I’ll-probably-get-over-it’.

Then the mage seemed to realize something, perked up visibly and told him: “No. If I’m really lucky, the infection’s going to take care of that.”

X

Varric still wasn’t sure of how to proceed long after Anders had left and darkness had swallowed Kirkwall – and the small bedroom – once more. He wasn’t even feeling too bad, even with the fever, which he put down to being so used to pain and nausea over the past week that a little infection didn’t even bother him anymore. But that also meant he had no excuse not to think about Hawke and him. _Again._

Speaking of the devil – a soft knock at the door interrupted his musings and set his heart beating faster when Hawke herself entered with a tray of food. It was equal parts about her and the freshly baked bread, he supposed.

They greeted each other in the most casual way possible and started eating in almost silence, stealing looks at each other when they thought the other one wouldn’t notice. Although she’d sat down on a chair instead of the bed, he could smell the faint vanilla scent coming from her. _It couldn’t just be the biscuits._ She probably added something to the water in the bathtub. The thought made him smile to himself and he noticed her slightly confused look.

They remained silent, though, until they were finished with the food and the tray was gone again. Only then, Hawke spoke up. “How are you feeling?”

He shrugged. “Hot, slightly wobbly – a lot like after too much ale at the Hanged Man.”

“Recent experience proves that this is completely true,” she told him with a soft smile – and if she could joke about it now, that had to be a good sign, right? A sign that she wasn’t ready to throw herself out of the window in embarrassment or that things between them were different.

They would be fine. Could be fine.

Except that she looked lost, alone in her chair, and he remembered how nice it felt to feel her next to him. It was that moment he made up his mind. He was confident, a master marksman, a famous story-teller and he had the sharpest mind in Kirkwall – and he would do everything in his power to make the woman in the chair happy. To bring a smile to her lips again, to feel her against him and even if it was just for one night. He’d repay her for everything she had done for him.

“Story time?” he asked, keeping his tone light, and for a second she seemed hesitant. But then she nodded with a smile and climbed onto the bed, settling down next to him – although they didn’t quite touch. Neither of them commented on it and he began his tale, while she sat with her arms wrapped around her legs which she’d pulled up to her chest, chin resting on her knees.

X

The story wasn’t as long as usual, which meant that Hawke hadn’t fallen asleep when he came to the end. But she couldn’t concentrate anyway. Isabela’s words ran through her head, tuning out most of the other thoughts there.

It took her almost the whole story to come to a decision – and even if it might ruin their friendship, she wouldn’t ever regret being with Varric. She would fight, fight like she had always done, fight for her best friend. She’d never backed away from a challenge and if being with Varric was that challenge then Andraste help her, she’d face it. They both were at a boiling point and she would be right in the centre of the explosion, with Varric, if it came down to it.

Her mind set, they sat in silence for a short while, watching the room get progressively darker as the candles shrunk. Finally, Hawke asked: “Why do you tell stories?”

The question obviously surprised him – he had been in thoughts, too, it seemed. “For the same reason you’re defending this city – I’m good at it.” After a second he added: “Also, I like the sound of my own voice.” He winked at her and the corners of her mouth went up.

“That’s what you have in common with most of Kirkwall.”

He raised an eyebrow. “’Most of’?”

“I’m not sure about the enthusiasm of the Merchants Guild.”

“Fair point.”

Hawke smiled slightly, but she still wasn’t done with the topic. “But why stories?” she asked, digging deeper. “Why stories of fights and nobles and beggars – why stories of people you know, and why so over-the-top? That story of the whore who turned out to be a warrior princess from across the Waking Sea – why not let her stay a warrior whore?”

“Because whores die of sickness and she deserves to be kept in mind because of her fighting skills, not because of the one ill man she had to sleep with and died two weeks later, coughing blood. Make her a princess, give her a home, a tribe to lead and a fight to die in.”

X

“The harsh truth is too hard to stand?” Hawke didn’t say it in a mocking tone, and he knew she understood what he was getting at.

“It’s too painful sometimes. People don’t want to hear painful things. They want to be entertained and go back home with a good feeling,” he explained.

“Is it working for you?”

“I’ll tell you when I’m done with the stories.”

She smiled. “You’ll never be done with the stories.”

“No.”

She nudged him. “They help others, too, you know.” Implicating she knew they were not solely for entertainment or for fame.

“That’s just a nice side effect. I’m not selfless enough to make them for others.” Well, not all of them. The novels’ main purpose was to make money, but he had to admit that writing them was immense fun, too.

“Still...” A thought occurred to her. “What’s the best part of that ridiculous Champion-of-Kirkwall story?”

He grinned. “Ah, someone is more interested than they want to admit. But the answer’s easy – the fight with the Arishok. It’s basically a story for itself and already circulating in many versions, but my version will be the best of them all.”

“Naturally.” Hawke was still relaxed, but Varric noticed one hand slowly sneaking up on her stomach, resting over where he suspected the blade had sunken into her. She noticed his look and rolled her eyes apologetically.

“Sorry, I just... sometimes I see it and I feel like the fight has been yesterday. It doesn’t hurt,” she added quickly when his brows furrowed, “-the memory is just so... vivid. I suppose some things, you don’t forget.” She shrugged.

“Like the Battle of Ostagar?” he asked, genuinely interested and slightly worried. She never talked much about it, but most of them knew she and Carver had fought in King Cailan’s army and had barely escaped with their lives before they left for Lothering and then Kirkwall.

“Yes. The Battle, the Blight storming towards us, Loghain turning away – I’ll never forget the look on his face. I wasn’t even anywhere near him but I remember his face. Remember how he turned his back on us. I heard the Warden and her friends killed him. He deserved it.” She took a deep breath. “Then there’s Carver’s death, my mother’s... and the Arishok.”

“Would you want to forget them if you could?”

“No sense in dwelling on things that won’t come true,” she told him, but smiled to show him it wasn’t said in bad temper. It also seemed strangely fit to their situation, but she gave no indication of having aimed at that. “But no, I wouldn’t. These memories shape me. I mean, I could live without the occasional nightmare-“ she chuckled, “-but I feel alive knowing what I’ve seen. It reminds me-“

Hawke stopped mid-sentence, words trailing off as she stared off into the dark room, eyebrows furrowed. She didn’t even breathe, it seemed.

“Hawke?” Varric asked carefully, alarm bells ringing. He slowly reached back with one arm to where Bianca was leaning against the nightstand but suddenly his friend snapped out of it and locked her eyes with him.

And what eyes they were! Blown wide, more black than blue and so full of emotion that gooseflesh broke out on Varric’s skin. The air between them was cracking with energy, it seemed, and while Hawke still didn’t breathe, Varric’s pulse and breathing had quickened immensely.

“It reminds me that life is short,” she muttered with a far-away voice. “It reminds me that every fight might be the last one, that every word might be the last. It reminds me that there will always be things worth fighting for, always a reason to at least _try_ , no matter how mad the idea might be.” Hawke continued to stare at him and even although the fever had warmed his cheeks and forehead, it had nothing on the heat of that look, the passion behind it.

“At least your words won’t ever be forgotten,” he reminded her, referring to the epic he was working on.

“No,” she shook her head without breaking eye contact. “They are your words then. A story. But I don’t want to be a story in your mind, not just a tale. I want to be alive there.”

“Believe me, you’re very hard to get out of my mind.”

“Which is why we can do this. Us. I don’t want to live the rest of my life pretending that I don’t want you, and I don’t want to watch you do the same. It’s not just about us anymore – people I care for are suffering and if you haven’t lied to me, you feel the same way I do.”

“You know I don’t lie to you.”

“Except for when you do.”

“It wasn’t-“ he started, but stopped himself and leaned forward, his voice dropping and the next words coming out raspy. “Hawke, we’re going to get killed. Either by Blondie or the Guild and if we survive them, there’s still all the other people, creatures and demons we face every day.”

“I almost lost you. If I get to die _with_ you it might actually be fun.”

“Putting the ‘fun’ in funeral then?” He shook his head. “I always knew you were mad, but this-“ Varric stopped himself. He wanted this, Ancestors, he wanted to be as certain as Hawke, wanted the confidence – but he had risked so many things in his life and not all of them had turned out the way he had planned.

“Why does it sound like I’m trying to convince you about something you don’t want?”

“Ancestors, you know what I want!” He almost yelled it at her – and it was enough, sent them into motion.

Hawke crashed into him, their first kiss hungry and fuelled by the years of build-up they’d both had for this moment. One of her hands caressed the side of his face before slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck while he brought his right hand up to cup her cheek.

They broke apart for a moment, gasping for air, before he pulled her in again. Her lips were full and moving softly against his mouth even though the kiss was desperate, screaming of their want and relief of having torn down the barrier between them.

When they parted for the second time, Hawke rested her forehead against his and felt just as hot as he was. She panted, her breath warm against his skin and while he too tried to calm his breathing, a smirk spread on his face while he caressed Hawke’s face absentmindedly.

The hand in his hair slowly slid down to his chest, resting lightly above his pounding heart without applying too much pressure to the remainder of the poison veins there.

“I think you’re going to kill me,” he told her, voice rumbling with emotion and shaky breaths.

“I thought I was promised at least one night of really awesome sex before that,” she countered and kissed him again, softly this time, not much more than a peck.

“As interested as I am in new experiences, I think I can safely say necrophilia is not one of them.” Varric leant back, just an inch and brushed the bangs that were sticking to Hawke’s forehead to the side. It was quickly becoming one of his favourite motions.

“We’re pretty good at waiting,” Hawke offered in agreement. “I don’t see how-“

“Don’t jinx it,” Varric told her hurriedly and kissed her to shut her up. Which, he found, was a perfectly acceptable way of doing so.

“Oh, so this is how you treat your lady, Lord Tethras?” she murmured against his mouth.

“My manners went downwards with most of my blood,” he explained with a wink, but quickly lost the playfulness when a dangerous glint appeared in his lover’s eyes. She leaned in, kissing him sensually, thoroughly, until he could barely think straight. Then she trailed away from his mouth and followed his jaw, nibbling ever so slightly, until her breath ghosted over the skin beneath his ear.

“Let’s see what we can do about that, then,” she whispered while her hands slowly slid down his body.

Varric tried to curse, but the names of all the deities known to him quickly turned into one name and one name only.

_Hawke._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: Be Okay - OH HONEY
> 
> Babiiiiiiies *squeals*
> 
> Oh, and thanks so much everyone who read, commented and/or kudos-ed this!!! It means much to me!  
> \- Hanna


	7. Everything Is Not What It Seems

Hawke lowered the dagger she’d been holding lazily in one hand. Of course she had recognized Varric’s steps almost instantly and keeping her weapon up was more of a reflex than to protect herself.

“All this time I avoided caves have been for naught,” he muttered when he stepped into her field of vision and she smirked.

“You’re a dwarf - consider this a sort of intervention. Back to the roots.”

“Literal roots of actual plants.” He kicked one of the thick veins from the trees above their heads.

Hawke rolled her eyes and reached out with her hands for him. “How was it? Were we right about that Seeker?”

Varric nodded and stepped towards Hawke, finally entering the dim light of the candles and torches. The few scratches he’d received from the man-handlers of Cassandra Pentaghast made Hawke’s eyes narrow dangerously and he kissed her briefly in a placatory way. “It went according to plan. Mostly, at least.”

Hawke handed him a mug and some bread before she assumed her typical listening-position, even though it was just a small camp in a cave and not a luxurious bed in mansion. Varric sat down, too, pulled her too his side and filled her in on his meeting with the Seeker.

When he ended, she smiled.

“I see you omitted some facts.”

“The handsome dwarven lover part, yes.”

She nodded in understanding. “Wouldn’t want them to get stupid ideas like kidnapping you.”

“Cassandra is a smart woman. Not big on the anger management, granted, but smart. I think she might have gathered not to mess with you.”

“If she’s so smart, then why is she not all over you?” Hawke wriggled her eyebrows and Varric grinned.

“Maybe she was? Human women with short black hair seem to like what they see,” he played along but leant into her touch when Hawke ran her fingers softly over his chest.

“I’m sure. So, what’ll happen next?”

“I told her I didn’t know where you are.”

“She didn’t believe you, though.”

He laughed. “She said she did. But I was followed. I don’t think it’ll be long until they find out about you.”

“Maybe you should keep an eye on her then. Be one step ahead,” Hawke suggested. Of course the thought didn’t exactly please her, but she trusted Varric like no-one else.

“You know me too well. The Seeker is a smart woman and with the right directions...”

“I won’t let you go alone, though,” Hawke told him and he shook his head, laughing.

“Of course not. I’ll make sure you can follow our route and when the time is right... I’ll introduce you. Just be warned – that girl has a serious hero-boner for you.”

“And whose fault is that, I wonder?”

“Hey, maybe my story helped a bit, but I think she might just dig the whole romantic hero thing.”

“’Romantic’ hero?”

“Just an expression.”

“Good. I’m not sure how much romance a templar-mages-war story can use. Speaking of – take care of yourself when you work with her.”

Varric shrugged, caressing his lover’s hand gently. “It won’t be too dangerous in the beginning, I think. They are on the lookout for someone at the moment.”

“A new hero?” Hawke was only half-joking.

“Yes – I might actually make a tale about him or her. It just won’t be as good as yours.”

“Ah, always looking on the bright side of things, aren’t you?”

“Naturally.”

For a while, they simply enjoyed the relative peace of the cave, before Hawke asked: “When are you leaving?”

“Hard to tell. Tomorrow morning, perhaps.”

“Then we better make the most of tonight, hm?” Hawke murmured and Varric’s eyes lit up in pleasant anticipation. Caves weren’t that bad, after all.

* * *

* * *

_(9:37 Dragon)_

The whole of Kirkwall was on edge, as it had been every day for the past few months and even years.

Yet Hawke’s companions didn’t seem to lose interest in their little banters wherever they went. After Varric and Aveline had butted heads more often than not about the whole romance novels, Hawke had half-feared that things would become as difficult between them as they were between Anders, Fenris and Merrill at times, but the captain of the guard and the dwarf were still on friendly terms.

Even the beloved reading contests and acted-out chapters of his novels that Isabela and he sometimes tried their hands on to get a raise out of Aveline didn’t seem to faze her too much anymore.

And besides, she’d had a sort of payback when the friends had found out about Varric and Hawke finally getting their heads out of their butts and Aveline had suggested to Isabela to try her hand at ‘friend fiction’ too – about their fearless leader and her dwarven marksman. The result had been a humiliating evening full of arrow-in-quiver analogies and lewd comments about the supposed sexual prowess of Varric and the rumour about well-endowed dwarfs.

The discussion even went far enough to start a contest of ‘who-could-think-up-the-most-ridiculous-pet-names’ while Isabela tried to convince them to let her join in so she could find out first-handed. Both Hawke and Varric declined that offer.

After that novelty had worn off, though, the subject of what they did or did not do with each other was not raised again – at least not after everyone had collected their winnings from the bets they all had going.

Hawke was off limits, as was Varric, and daily routine caught everyone again. That was, if the unrests could be called routine.

Aveline still talked to Varric, Fenris was still firmly wrapped up in his mage-hating, Anders was even more secretive than usual. Merrill was busy learning how to tie knots, which she practiced with the twine Varric had given her years ago and Isabela... was Isabela.

Varric and Hawke were still friends, companions in arms – and lovers at night.

As they were patrolling Hightown now and Varric stayed safely in the shadows when they passed the Merchants Guild, Aveline shook her head at him and asked: “Why are you still here, Varric?“

The dwarf shrugged. “Starkhaven's too pretentious for me and Cumberland's too boring.“

Aveline dug deeper. “You always say you hate commitment, but here you are, six years later, still at Hawke's side.”

Hawke glanced at Varric, who remained calm but winked at her before he told the guard captain: “Aveline, I thought you'd have noticed by now: I lie a lot.”

And he did. To protect himself and those he loved and cared for, to entertain or simply because it redounded to his advantage. But never to Hawke.

He also hadn’t lied or been wrong about another thing – the sex truly _was_ awesome.

* * *

* * *

A soft knock on the door woke him from drowsy sleepiness and he reached for Bianca more out of habit than because he felt like he was in danger.

He called out: “Yes?” and the door opened, only enough to let a tall, hooded figure slip through.

“That Inquisitor’s good. Standing guard, watching. Slipping through wasn’t as easy as I imagined.”

“The Inquisitor’s not too bad,” Varric agreed. “Heroes thrive under my guidance, you know.”

The hooded figure chuckled, too, before their arm extended into a wave towards the bed where Varric was still cowered, Bianca in his hands. “I make my way up to your room - and what do I find? You, with your hands on someone else.”

Varric laughed quietly before he put down Bianca again and pulled back the covers, gesturing towards the mattress invitingly. “We’ve just been missing you.”

“As much as I’ve missed you,” the figure whispered back and then dropped the cloak, leaning in for a kiss.

Varric’s world smelled like vanilla once more.

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: Everything Is Not What It Seems - Selena Gomez :DD  
> Dialogue between Varric and Aveline taken directly from Dragon Age II.
> 
> And now we pretend this is what happens between DA 2 and 3.  
> Thank you for reading, comments and kudos - I hope you enjoyed the story!  
> \- Hanna (hanna-notmontana on tumblr)


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